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UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA 
AT    LOS  ANGELES 


,  c.     Edited 

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owledge. 


d  IT.) 


(Selectioiih. ) 


Otiirra   in    Preparation. 


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With  Full  Explanatory  Notes. 


Paradise  Lost.  (Book  I.)  Containing  Sketch  of  Milton's  Life — 
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CLARK  &  MAYNARD,  Publishers. 

734  Broadway,  New  York, 


// 


ey 


c 


A 


Practical  Reader 


WITH 


i!rji*ciTi5C5  in  llocal  Culture. 


BY 

CAT^OLIXE    B.    Le  ROW, 
Late.  I/istn/ctor  in  Elocution, 

SMITH     AND      A'  A  S  S  A  U     C  O  1. 1,  E  G  R  S  . 

"Ill  the  name,  then,  of  physical  and  mental  well-being,  I  demand  that  the  art 
of  reading  aloud  sliall  be  ranked  among  the  principal  branches  of  pul)lic  educa- 
tion."— Ernest  LEfioiTE. 


> ',   '  i   >"  >, 


NEW  YORK: 
Clark  6z  Maynard,   PuBijsirERS, 

734    l^ROADWAY. 

1.S8:?. 


Copyright,  1882,  by 
CLARK  &  MAYNARD. 


■••  • 


.»    •  • 


■  <  *  • « •  • 


liai 


i\ 


'^  * 

~^  PREFACE. 

I  

^     All  students  arc  expected  to  be  able  to  read  well  ordinary 
'-' prose  and  poetry,  and  it  is  for  the  purpose  of  helping  them 
to  do  this,  as  avcII  as  to  help  teachers  in  the  teaching  of 
reading,  that  this  book  is  prepared. 

It  is  thoroughly  practical.  No  unnecessary  technical 
in  terms  are  used.  The  subjects  explained  and  illustrated 
§  are  those  only  which,  as  the  result  of  many  years'  experi- 
tsj  ence  among  teachers  as  well  as  pupils,  the  compiler  lias 
'-'  found  most  necessary. 

^     As  physical  deyelopment  and  correct  vocalization  must 
^precede  all  good  reading,  the  simi)lest  and  therefore  most 
essential  physical  and  yocal  exercises  are  given,  with  full 
directions  for  their  use. 

The  Selections  for  reading  present  nothing  of  a  merely 
^showy  style  of  elocution.  'J'hey  are  adapted  for  the  upper 
Jljclasses  of  Grammar  Schools  as  well  as  for  High  and 
^Advanced. 

\ii  It  is  claimed  that  the  Practical  Reader  contains  more 
"^suitable  material  for  elocutionary  work  in  the  school-room, 
^in  more  condensed,  analytical,  and  available  form,  than  any 
"^Header  or  Speaker  before  the  public. 

Thanks  are  due  to  Messrs.  Harper  &  Brothers;  Hough- 
ton, Mifflin  &  Co. ;  Fords,  How^ard  &  Hulbert;  Cowpei-thwait 
&  Co.;  and  Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  for  permission  to 
make  extracts  from  the  copyrighted  editions  of  their  pub- 
lications; also  to  the  authors  herein  i-opresented. 


350G1 


CONTET^TTS. 


Abraham  Davenport.     John  G.  Whitticr, 
A  IlisTORiCAT.  Addrkss.     Duiiifl  Webster,    . 
A  Liberal  Education.     Tiiomus  Henry  Huxlej', 
A  KoYAi.  Princess.    Clirislina  G.  Rossetli,    . 
A  Thanksgiving  Growl.     Bdldiciu's  MunUily, 
Christian  Citizenship.     Wendell  Pliillips,  . 
Compensation.     Frances  Kidley  llavergal, 
DoMBEY  AND  SoN.     Cliarlcs  Dickens,     . 
Dolly.     Harriet  Beeclier  Stowe, 

Drafted.     Helen  L.  Bostwick 

Extracts  fro.m  Ess.\ys.     Kalpli  Waldo  Emerson, 

Half  heard.     Carl  Spencer 

History.     James  Anthony  Froude, 

How  to  Read.     John  Ruskin 

In  the  Highlands.     William  Black, 
Jack  Abbott's  Breakfast.     Leigh  Hunt, 
Lkft  Ashore.     Harriet  Prescott  Spofford,     . 
Lilies  in  Prison.     Elizabetli  Stuart  Phelps, 

Longing.    James  Rus.sell  Lowell 

Losses.     Fiances  Brown 

Miss  Edith  Helps  Things  Along.     Bret  Haite.  . 
New  Every  iMornino.     Christian  Union, 

Nobility.     Alice  Cary 

Ode  on  the  Poets.     John  Keats, 
Our  Honored  Dead.     Edward  Everett, 
Our  Xkw  Livery.     George  "William  Curtis, 
Partridge  at  the  Pl.ay.     Henry  Fielding.  . 
Rfdder  Gr.xnge.     Frank  R.  Stockton, 


PAGE 
110 

ICO 
66 
93 

205 
185 

79 
128 

96 
163 
134 
220 
173 
197 

77 
149 
1)3 
139 
196 
177 
158 
210 
204 

69 

70 

114 

192 

.     R9 


Contents. 


PAGE 

Shared.    Lucy  Laicom, 172 

Shipwrecked.     Francois  Coppee, 85 

Sound  akd  Sense.     Robert  Cliainbers 207 

The  Art  op  Book-keeping.     Thoiuas  Hood 107 

The  Breath  of  Life.     Phrenological  Journal,       ...  CO 

The  Classic  Poets.     Heniy  Nelson  Coleridge,         .        .        .  103 

The  Good  of  It.     Dinah  Mulock  Craik 127 

The  Knocking  at  the  Gate,  in  Macbeth.    Tbos.  De  Quincej^  221 

The  Leak  in  the  Dike.     Phoebe  Caiy, 187 

The  Membraneous  Croup.     Mark  Twain 120 

The  Music  of  the  Telegraph  Wires.     Henry  D.  Thoreau,  170 

The  Nobility  of  Labor.     Thomas  Carlyle,     ....  108 

The  Old  Politician.     Robert  Buchanan,      ....  74 

The  Power  of  WoHDS.     Edwin  P.  Whipple 211 

The  Revenge:  a  Ballad  of  the  Fleet.     Allrcd  Tennyson,  181 

The  Sea.     M.  J.  Michelet, 178 

The  Service  of  Art.     George  Eliot 80 

The  Seven  D.\ys.     Frances  L.  Mace 99 

The  Sioux  Chief's  Daughter.     Joaquin  Miller,      .        .         .  13G 

The  Waters  and  the  Shadow.     Victor  Hugo,    .        .        .  201 
To  DAY  AND  To  MORROW.     Gerald  Jilassey,        .         .        .        .118 

Too  Late.     Fitz  Hugh  Ludlow, 215 

Triplet  and  Family.     Charles  Reade 102 

Walter  Scott.     John  W.  Chadwick, 216 

Wasted  Counsel.     R.  W.  Easterbrooks, 213 

Why.     :Mary  Frances  Butts, 200 

Wild  Weather  Outside.     Margaret  E.  Sangster,  .        .        .  133 


LIST  OF  AUTHORS. 


Black,  William  . 
BosTwiCK,  Helen  L. 
Brown,  Fhances 

BVCHANAN,    RoBEKT 

BcTTs,  MAitY  Frances 
Carlyle,  'J'uo.mas    . 
Cary,  Alice 
Cary,  Phcebe   . 
Chadwick,  John  W 
Chambers,  Robert 
CooLiDGE,  Susan 
Coleridge,  Henry  Nelson. 
CoppEE.  Francois 
Cratk,  Dinah  ]\Iulock 
CuHTis.  Gro.  Wm. 
De  Qcincky,  Thomas 
Dickens,  Charles 
Eastrrbrooks,  Rebecca  W. 
Eliot,  George 
Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo 
Everett,  Edward  . 
Fif:lding,  Henry 
Frocde,  James  Anthony. 
Harte,  Bret 
HA^'EROAI,.  Frances  Ridl 
Hood,  Thomas 
Hugo.  Victor   . 


PAGE 

PAGE 

.     77 

HtTNT,  Leigh 

149 

.       168 

Huxley,  Thomas  Henry 

66 

.  177 

Keats,  John 

69 

74 

Kirk,  Eleanor 

:."05 

.  200 

Larcom,  Lucy    . 

172 

.       108 

Lowell.  James  Russell 

196 

.  204 

Ludlow,  Fitz  Hugh 

215 

.       187 

Mace,  Frances  L. 

99 

.  21G 

iMAssEY,  Gerald 

118 

.       207 

Michelet,  M.  J.  . 

178 

.  210 

Miller,  Joaquin    . 

136 

on.  165 

Phelps,  Eliz.  Stuart  . 

139 

.     85 

Phillips,  Wendell 

185 

.       127 

Reade,  Charles  . 

103 

.  114 

Rusk  IN.  John    . 

197 

.       221 

RossETTi,  Christina  6. 

93 

.  128 

Sangster,  Margaret  E. 

133 

W.  213 

Spencer,  Carl     . 

220 

HO 

Spofford.  H.  Prescott  . 

112 

.  134 

Stockton,  Frank  R.     . 

.  89 

70 

Stowk.  Harriet  Beecfier 

96 

.   192 

Tennyson.  Alfred 

181 

.       173 

Thoreau,  Henry  D. 

170 

.  158 

Twain,  Mark 

120 

[,ey    79 

Webster  Daniel 

160 

.   167 

Whipple,  Edwin  P     . 

211 

.       201 

Whittier,  John  GRKEKLEAt 

110 

SUGGESTIOJS'S    TO    TEACHEES. 


The  ability  to  read  well  is  a  very  different  thing  from  the 
ability  to  teach  reading,  as  nearly  all  teachers  not  specially 
trained  for  the  work  have  proved  by  experience.  The 
object  of  this  compilation  is  to  furnish  a  simple — and  con- 
sequently practical — text-book  which  shall  be  a  genuine 
help  in  this  direction. 

It  is  no  easy  task  to  convey  by  printed  words  that  which 
requires  the  living  voice  for  its  exemplification;  moreover, 
as  Elocution  is  not  an  "exact  science,"  it  is  impossible  to 
specify  an  unvarying  plan  of  instruction.  In  this  particu- 
lar branch,  more  than  in  any  other,  judgment,  ingenuity 
and  taste  are  called  into  requisition. 

Reading  should  not  be  entirely  taught  by  imitation, 
though  this  is  frequently  the  only  method  at  the  command 
of  the  teacher.  Such  a  process  destroys  all  originality  of 
style,  and  generally  prevents  all  originality  of  thought. 

One  cause  of  the  disagreeable  styles  of  reading  so  com- 
mon in  schools,  is  the  failure  to  connect  sound  and  sense. 
Speaking  is  the  utterance  of  original  ideas;  reading,  the 
utterance  of  the  ideas  of  others.  So  far  as  the  thoughts 
of  another  are  expressed  by  the  reader  as  the  speaker  would 
himself  utter  them,  so  far  it  is  good  reading.  But  when 
this  expression  is  in  poetical,  dramatic  or  oratorical  form — 
in  other  words,  when  the  style  becomes  more  beautiful, 
more  intense,  or  more  exalted  than  that  of  our  ordinary 


8  Suggestions  to  Teachers. 

conversation — somethinfr  more  is  necessary  than  the  clirec- 
tion,  "Eead  as  you  talk."  An  apt  response  to  such  direc- 
tion would  be,  '•'  I  do  not  talk,  or  hear  anybody  else  talk, 
in  that  style;  therefore  I  do  not  know  how  to  read  it."  It 
is  just  here  that  the  more  difficult  and  artistic  work  of  Elo- 
cution is  to  be  done.  By  use  of  the  exaniples  illustrating 
certain  styles  and  different  degrees  of  force,  pitch,  time, 
etc.,  the  imagination,  judgment  and  taste  of  the  student 
are  educated,  and  he  can  apply  to  any  selection  the  prin- 
ciples which  he  has  learned  in  detached  lines  and  sentences. 

For  this  is  needed  not  only  intellectual  comprehension 
of  what  is  to  be  read,  but  ability  to  produce  the  tones 
suitable  for  its  expression.  This  last  is  u'holly  dependent 
upon  physical  development.  Every  student  can  readily 
understand  tliat  Byron's  "Apostrophe  to  the  Ocean"  needs 
the  orotund  quality  of  voice;  the  "Death  and  Burial  of 
Little  Nell,"  soft  force;  "Thanatopsis,"  low  i)itch,  while 
I)erhaps  not  one  in  fifty  can  j^^odiu'e  these  variations.  It 
is  for  the  cultivation  of  this  physical  power  that  the  Vocal 
Exercises  are  given. 

An  adequate  supjily  of  breath,  and  a  proper  manner  of 
using*it,  are  matters  of  the  first  importance  in  all  vocaliza- 
tion. As  well  expect  to  reap  a  harvest  before  seed-sowing, 
or  to  wear  a  garment  before  the  material  for  it  is  manu- 
factured, as  to  i)roduce  a  good  tone  of  voice  from  a  scanty 
amount  of  breath,  or  without  muscular  action  of  the 
natural  breathing  apparatus.  So  important  is  this  matter 
and  so  comprehensive  in  all  its  bearings,  that  it  is  fully 
considered  elsewhere  in  the  book  in  an  article  originally 
written  by  the  compiler  for  a  physiological  magazine.  Its 
statements  are  urged  upon  the  attention  and  thought  of 
teachers  and  pupils  alike. 

It  is  suggested  that  a  few  minutes  of  each  reading  lesson 


Suggestions  to  Teachers.  9 

be  given  to  the  Vocal  Exercises,  selections  from  them  being 
made  at  the  discretion  of  the  teacher.  As  the  greatest 
obstacle  to  success  in  the  rendering  of  these  detached 
passages  is  timidity  and  lack  of  confidence  on  the  part  of 
the  pupil,  it  will  be  well  to  let  concert  reading  precede  in- 
dividual effort. 

Singing  cannot  be  properly  taught  without  due  attention 
to  position,  breathing  and  articulation,  and  no  recitation — 
however  correct  in  its  facts — can  be  acceptably  given  Avith- 
out  reference  to  these  same  matters.  It  is  a  self-evident 
truth  that  all  the  vocal  work  of  the  school-room  should  be 
done  on  the  same  elocutionary  principles  as  are  applied  to 
the  reading  lessons.  It  is  well  to  combine  elocutionary  and 
musical  drill,  as  in  production  of  tone;  monotone  (or  hold- 
ing a  note)  v/ith  different  degrees  of  force  and  pitch;  in- 
tervals and  slides  of  the  scale;  chords;  reading  uji  and 
down  the  scale  (one  Avord  on  eacli  note),  and  innumerable 
variations  which  will  occur  to  the  ingenious  teacher.  Such 
exercises  give  novelty,  and  consequently  increased  interest 
TO  the  work,  while  improving  the  clearness,  strength, 
flexibility  and  melody  of  the  speaking  and  reading  voice. 

The  ability  to  read  well  an  ordinary  newspaper  or  maga- 
zine article  is  more  desirable  than  the  power  to  recite  a 
few  dramatic  poems — if  one  cannot  possess  both.  Yet  it 
is  often  the  case  that  the  student  who  can  render  "  Barbara 
Frietchie"  or  "  Sheridan's  Ride"  with  good  effect  makes 
wretched  work  of  an  essay  on  the  fine  arts,  or  an  editorial 
on  the  tariff.  This  plain  reading  as  it  is  called,  is  in 
reality  a  test  of  the  reader's  ability.  He  is  left  entirely  de- 
pendent upon  the  simplest  principles  of  his  art — a  correct 
habit  of  breathing,  distinct  articulation,  accurate  empha- 
sis and  avoidance  of  monotony.  There  is  no  variety,  no 
rhyme  or  rhythm,  no  stirring  incident,  no  dramatic  spirit, 


10  Sugcfestions  to  Teachers. 

as  in  the  animated  poem,  which  can  help  to  hide  any 
deficiency. 

For  this  reason  there  is  no  more  practical  and  profitabk 
elocutionary  exercise  than  reading  aloud  the  items  of  news 
and  the  editorials  of  the  daily  p;iper,  a  copy  being  handed 
from  one  pupil  to  another,  each  being  required  to  read 
without  prei)aration  or  previous  acquaintance  with  the 
subject. 

The  school  edition  of  Shakesjieare's  plays,  published  by 
Clark  &  Maynard,  being  in  convenient  and  inexpensive 
form,  can  also  be  ]irofitably  used  in  connection  with  the 
Practical  Eeader.  Variety  in  the  matter  to  be  read  is 
always  desirable  as  a  means  of  retaining  the  interest  of  the 
student. 

The  exercises  are  numbered  throughout  the  book  in 
regular  order,  such  arrangement  obviating  the  necessity 
for  naming  both  subject  and  number  in  referring  to  any 
exam])le. 

Subjects  of  the  most  practical  value,  of  any  particular 
difficulty,  or  much  variety  in  application,  are  illustrated 
by  more  than  one  example. 


Physical  Exercises.  11 


PHYSICAL  EXEECISES. 

[The  following  list  of  Exercises  is  condensed  from  Prof.  L.  B.  Monroe's 
"Manual  of  Physical  and  Vocal  Training,"  published  by  Cowperthwait  &  Co. 
of  Philadelphia,  in  which  will  be  found  full  directions  and  illustrations  for  each 
exercise.] 

1.  Sitting  position. 

2.  Poise  forward  and  backward. 

3.  Standing  position. 

4.  Body  bend  forward  and  backward. 

5.  Body  bend  right  and  left. 

6.  Active  and  passive  chest. 

7.  Percussion  of  chest. 

8.  Percussion  with  arm  movements. 

9.  Chest  expansion,  arm  movements. 
^          10.  Shoulder  movements. 

11.  Shoulder  movements  with  bent  arms. 

12.  Circular  movements  with  bent  arms. 

*'  The  ancient  Greeks  paid  the  same  attention  to  physical 
as  to  mental  training.  The  monuments  in  art,  science, 
and  language  which  have  come  down  to  us,  more  than  con- 
firm the  wisdom  of  their  educational  methods.  We  praise 
and  copy  their  statuary,  but  seem  to  forget  that  the  models 
for  these  classical  figures  were  furnished  by  their  system  of 
physical  training.  We  go  back  to  them  to-day  for  our 
great  exemplars  in  oratory.  But  which  of  our  institutions 
will  carry  us  through  the  drill  which  made  these  men  such 
consummate  masters  of  their  art?" 

Prof.  Lewis  B.  Monroe. 


12  Vocal  Exercises. 


VOCAL  EXERCISES. 

[The  exercises  In  the  following  Tables  are  explained  elsewhere,  being  arranged 
in  tabular  form  for  convenience  in  reference  and  use.  Thej-  can  be  effectively 
practiced  with  the  vowel  sounds.  It  is  suggested  that  such  practice  always 
precede  that  of  words  and  sentences,  so  that  the  work  may  be  as  mechanical  as 
possible;  the  vhole  attention  being  given  to  the  physical  exercise,  rather  than 
to  the  expression  of  any  meaning.] 

TABLE  FIRST. 

1.  Effusive  breathing;  in  form  of  letter  H. 

2.  Expulsive  breathing;   in  form  op  syllable  Hoo. 

3.  Explosive  breathing;  in  form  of  syllable  HaI 

4.  Pure  tone. 

0.  Aspirate,  or  whisper. 

6.  Breath  tone,  or  half  -whisper. 

7.  Sustained  tone,  or  holding  a  note. 

8.  Explosive  tone.  ^ 

9.  Orotund  tone. 

10.  Orotund  and  pure,  ai-ternated. 

TABLE    SECOND. 

1.  Radical  stress. 

2.  Median  stress. 

3.  Final  stress. 

4.  Compound  stress. 

5.  Thorough  stress. 

6.  Intermittent  stress,  or  tremor. 

7.  Monotone. 

8.  Rising  slides. 

9.  Falling  slides. 

10.  Rising  circumflex. 

11.  Falling  circumflex. 

12.  Rising  and  falling  slides  in  alternation. 


Vocal  Exercises. 


13 


SLIDES. 

[The  following  diagrams,  which  can  be  transferred  to  the  blackboard,  will  be 
found  convenient  for  exercises  in  Monotone,  short  and  long  Rising,  Falling  and 
Circumflex  Slides,  and  all  forms  of  Stress.] 


^    / 


n 


^/ 


// 


^/ 


^(; 


\    ^\'-^\ 


RADICAL. 


STRESS. 

MEDIAN. 


FINAL. 


EflEusive. 


Expulsive. 


Explosive. 


o 


THOEOUGH. 


COMPOUND 


X 


TREMOR. 


,/WAyvx/ 


MEASURED   SLIDES. 

[In  the  preceding  diagram,  the  terms  Long  and  Short  are  used  without  refer- 
ence to  any  measurement.  Short  implying  the  common,  conversational.  Whole 
Tone  Slide;  Long,  any  increase  in  that  length.  In  the  diagram  following,  the 
Slides  are  arranged  in  the  order  of  their  length  ] 


/  \ 


/\ 


/\      /\    /\ 


Monotone.    Semi-tone.    Whole  Tone.       Third. 

^^  un  un 


Fifth. 


Octave. 


14  Articulation. 


ARTICULATIOX. 

Articulation  {ariiculatus,  famished  with  joints,  distinct) 
depends  upon  the  action  of  the  jaws,  pahitc,  tongue  and 
lips.  The  muscles  of  these  org:ins  must  act  promptly, 
easily  and  enei'getically  in  order  to  secure  distinct  articu- 
lation. 

The  attention  of  the  student  should  be  directed  to  tJte 
manner  of  forming  letters,  quite  as  much  as  to  tlie  sounds 
of  the  letters.  If  this  is  done,  and  the  correct  manner  of 
formation  insisted  upon,  indistinct  and  mumbling  utter- 
ance will  be  easily,  as  well  as  rapidly,  remedied. 

All  vowel  sounds  depend  chiefly  upon  the  extent  and 
manner  of  opening  the  mouth.  The  consonants  depend 
more  upon  the  action  of  the  lips  and  tongue.  For  exam- 
ple, h,  m  and^j  are  formed  by  closing  the  lips  firmly;  d,  t, 
I  and  n,  by  jn-essing  the  tip  of  the  tongue  against  the  roof 
of  the  mouth,  just  back  of  the  upper  teeth; /and  v  by 
pressing  the  upjier  teeth  upon  the  under  lip.  Every  sound 
in  the  alphabet  can,  and  should  be,  so  explained  and  prac- 
ticed. Imperfect  articulation  should  not  be  tolerated  in 
reading  or  recitation.  Analysis  of  words,  that  is,  emi-)haiic 
articulation  of  eacli  letter  composing  them,  as  Avell  as  con- 
stant practice  upon  the  following  vowels,  consonants  and 
combiuations,  is  specially  recommended.  The  lists  can  be 
indefinitely  extended  and  modified. 

All  impediments  of  si)eech — not  caused  by  })hysical  mal- 
formation— can  be  helped  and  sometimes  wholly  cured  by 
the  judicious  practice  of  Articulation.  Stammering  is 
caused  chiefly  by  lack  of  strength  or  flexibility  in  the  mus- 
cles mentioned. 


Vowels  and  Consonants. 


15 


VOWELS   AND   CONSONANTS. 


A  long Fate. 

A  Italian Far. 

A  broad Fall. 

A  short Fat. 

E  long Mete. 


Vowel  Sounds. 

E  short Met. 

I  long. ...... .Pine. 

I  short Pin. 

O  long Note. 

O  close Move. 

O  short Kot. 


Ulong TQbe. 

U  short Tub. 

U  close Full. 

01  and  oy....B5Il. 
Ou  and  ow..  ..Boiind. 


B 

. .  .Babe 

D 

....Did. 

G  hard... 
J 

....Gag. 
Jov. 

Vocal  Consonants. 

L Lull. 

M Maim. 

R Rap. 

Th  soft Thine.     Z 


V Valve. 

W Wine. 

Y Yes. 


.Zeal. 


Ch 

Csoft.. 
C  hard. 
F 


Aspirate  Consonants. 

.Church.    G  soft Gem. 

.Cense.       TI Hold. 

.Cake.        K Kirk. 

.Fife.        IP Pipe. 

Final  Consonants. 


T Tent. 

S Seal. 

Sh Shine, 

Th  sharp Thin. 


Band. 

Ciieck. 

Heart. 

Help. 

Send. 

Tight. 

Speak. 

Drop. 

Find. 

Sport. 

Map. 

Cork. 

Consonant  Combinations. 

Wrists. 

Hosts. 

Bursts. 

Masts. 

Guests. 

Mists. 

Gliosis. 

Basks. 

Lists. 

Posts. 

Fists. 

Flasks. 

V 

aried  Consonant  Combinations 

i. 

Arm'dst. 

Laugh'st. 

Strangl'st. 

Black'nst. 

Scorn'dst. 

Thank'st. 

Struggl'dst. 

Troubl'dft 

Learn'dst. 

Help'st. 

Handl'.st. 

Rr\\ard'st. 

EMPHASIS. 


Emphasis,  in  its  usual  acceptation,  is  the  force  of  voice 
laid  upon  a  word  to  distinguish  it  from  the  otlier  words  in 
the  same  sentence. 

As  grammatjcal  analysis  is  often  necessary  in  determining 
emphasis,  the  student  should  be  able  to  discriminate  between 
sim})le,  com])ound,  complex,  and  inverted  sentences;  phrases 
and  clauses;  words  in  apposition;  subject  and  predicate. 

It  js  safe  to  assume  that  any  word  wliich  can  be  left  out 
of  a  sentence  without  injury  to  the  sense,  is  not  to  be  em- 
phasized. Reduce  the  sentence  to  its  lowest  terms — that  is, 
select  from  it  only  the  words  absolutely  necessary  for  the 
expression  of  the  meaning. 

"  Let  the  battle-flags  of  the  brave  volunteers,  which  they 
brought  home  from  the  war  with  the  glorious  record  of 
their  victories,  be  preserved  intact."  If  this  sentence  is 
read  with  equal  em])hasi3  throughout,  it  requires  a  mental 
effort  on  the  part  of  the  reader  to  discover  whether  flags, 
volunteers,  war,  record,  or  victories,  are  to  bo  preserved. 

**  These  poor,  terrified  men,  who,  by  the  way,  were  all 
foreigners,  and  who,  from  their  lack  of  education,  could  not 
in  the  least  understand  the  matter,  Avcrc  all  severely  blamed." 
The  point  of  this  sentence  is,  "  These  men  were  blamed." 
That  they  were  "  severely  blamed"  is  a  fact,  though  not  an 
essential  one.  That  they  were  "all  severely  blamed;"  that 
they  "could  not  understand  the  matter"  for  which  they 
were  blamed;  that  their  failure  to  understand  was  due  to 


Emphasis.  17 


"  their  lack  of  education;"  that  they  were  "foreigners;" 
that  they  were  '"poor,  terrified  men," — these  are  all  facts 
which  add  to  and  explain,  without  in  the  slightest  degree 
altering  the  main  statement,  "  These  men  were  blamed." 
Skill  is  needed  in  the  disposition  of  these  subordinate  and 
comparatively  non-essential  clauses,  in  order  that  the  main 
idea  shall  be  the  most  prominent  one. 

In  general,  the  noun  and  the  verb  of  a  sentence  are 
emphatic.  There  are,  howevei",  exceptions.  For  example, 
the  first  line  of  the  second  stanza  of  the  familiar  poem, 
''  The  Burial  of  Moses,"  is,  ''  That  was  the  grandest  funeral 
that  ever  passed  on  earth."  The  emphasis  would  naturally 
— if  thoughtlessly — be  placed  upon  the  word  "funeral"  as 
the  subject  of  the  line.  But  the  whole  of  the  first  stanza 
describes  the  funeral.  The  fact,  then,  that  it  was  a,  funeral 
is  understood.  The  point  of  this  line  is  its  grajideur;  con- 
sequently the  emphasis  must  be  transferred  from  the  noun 
to  the  adjective. 

As  a  rule,  pronouns,  adjectives  and  adverbs  are  to  be 
emphasized  when  contrast  or  comparison  is  intended,  or 
when  the  meaning  implied  is  not  fully  expressed.  Note  the 
following  examples  from  ''Julius  Caesar." 

1. 

"But  what  of  Ciceio?  Shall  we  sound  him ?" — as  we  have  sounded 
others. 

2. 

"There  is  no  fear  in  him," — as  there  is  in  CaBsar.  "Let  him  not 
die," — as  Caesar  dies. 

3. 

"  Call  it  my  fear  that  keeps  you  in  the  house," — implying,  if  she 
did  not  say,  "  and  not  your  own" 

4. 

"Let's  Itil)  him  boldly,  but  not  wratfifully." 


18  E7n2')has)S. 


5. 

"I  do  beseech  j-e,  if  ye  bear  me  hard,"  as  yon  did  Caesar. 

6. 

"There  is  no  harm  intended  to  your  person,"  as  there  was  to 
Csesar's.     "  To  you  our  swords  have  leaden  points,  Mark  Antony." 

7. 

"  That  is  enougli  to  satisfy  the  Senate.     But  for  your  private  satis- 
faction — ." 

8. 

"  These  lowly  courtesies  might  Are  the  blood  of  ordinary  vaen."    I 
am  not  an  ordinary  man. 

9. 

"  My  credit  now  stands  on  such  slippery  ground  — ." 

10. 

"  Or  else  were  this  a  savage  spectacle." 

11. 

"Thou  art  the  ruins  of  the  noblest  man." 

12. 
"  Here  is  a  mourning  Rome,  a  dangerous  Rome." 

13. 

"  Speak  your  griefs  softly;  I  do  know  you  well." 

14. 

"  Most  noble  Caesar!     O  royal  Caesar  1" 

15. 

"  For  I  can  raise  no  money  by  vile  means." 

16. 

"  A. friendly  eye  could  never  sec  such  faults." 

17, 

"  CiJ^rZ  reasons  must  of  force  give  place  to  better." 


Emphasis.  19 


18. 

"Ill  spirit,  I  would  hold  more  talk  with  thee!" 

19. 

Brutus  remarks  to  Cassius,  '"  I  shall  be  glad  to  learn  of  nobU  men." 
Could  he  more  plainly  say  in  words  that  Cassius  is  not  noble? 

20. 

The  words  of  Cassius,  "It  is  not  meet  that  every  nice  offense 
sliould  bear  his  comment,"  refers  not  to  offenses  in  general,  but  to 
small  ones  iu  contrast  to  great. 

[In  each  of  these  examples,  transfer  the  emphasis  from  its  proper  place  to  the 
grammatical  subject  of  the  sentence,  and  note  the  effect.] 


PAUSES   AND   SLIDES. 

"  A  pause  is  often  more  eloquent  than  words." 

Emphasis  does  not  entirely  depend  upon  force.  It  is 
given  by  variations  iu  pauses,  time,  pitch,  and  inflections. 
These  means  must  be  principally  relied  on  iu  delicate,  ten- 
der, and  pathetic  passages,  the  effect  of  which  would  be 
entirely  destroyed  hj  force,  and  yet  which  need  a  great  deal 
of  expression.  A  word  or  phrase  is  emphasized  by  anything 
which  attracts  attention. 

A  Rhetorical  jiause  is  one  made  in  reading,  but  not  in 
writing,  being  necessary  for  the  ear,  though  not  for  the 
eye  ;  as,  "  You  think  it  just  |  that  he  should  use  his  intel- 
lect I  to  take  the  bread  out  of  other  men's  mouths." 

1. 

"  We  are  stewards  |  of  whatever  talents  are  intrusted  to  us." 

2. 

"Even  apparent  defeat  |  assumed  the  insolence  of  victory.  " 


20  jE:'7ij)7iasls. 


3. 

"ITabils  of  mental  discipline  |  are  necessary  in  any  system  of  cclu- 
calion." 

4. 

"  His  comrailo  |  bout  to  lift  him,  but  the  spark  of  life  |  had  fled." 

6. 

"For  lie  was  all  the  world  |  to  us,  that  hero  1  gray  and  grim." 

6. 

"They  show  the  banners  |  taken,  ihcy  tell  his  battles  |  won." 

[In  the  preceding  examples,  the  insertion  of  commas  would  confuse  the  eye 
while  the  omission  of  pauses  would  be  equally  confusing  to  the  ear.] 

Pnnctnation  is  not  to  bo  ]"Cg;irt]e(I  as  an  infallible  guide 
in  tlie  pauses  orinllections  of  tlie  voice.  Wordsand  clauses 
ifi  the  same  grammatical  construction  are  often  indcjjcndent 
in  thought.  While  such  are  separated  merely  by  comnias 
for  the  assistance  of  the  eye,  they  must  be  more  decidedly 
separated  by  the  voice  for  the  assistance  of  the  ear. 

"Day  by  day  the  blood  recedes,  the  flesh  deserts,  the 
muscles  relax,  the  sinews  grow  powerless." 

That  each  of  these  clauses  embodies  a  complete  thought, 
is  }ti'()vcd  by  the  fact  that  each  one  can  be  separately  parsed, 
and  could  be  as  correctly  written  in  this  form: 

"  Day  by  day  the  blood  recedes.  The  flesh  deserts.  The 
muscles  relax.     The  sinews  grow  powerless." 

Read  the  sentence  aloud  in  both  forms,  keeping  the  voice 
up  at  the  comnias,  dropping  it  at  the  periods,  and  judge 
which  style  conveys  the  clearest  and  strongest  meaning  to 
tiic  ear.  Moreover,  the  clauses  arc  of  equal  importance; 
but,  by  keeping  the  voice  suspended  until  the  close,  the  last 
one  is  made  more  emphatic  than  any  of  the  others. 

The  same  principle  is  illustrated  in  the  following  para- 
graphs: 


Empliasis,  21 


*'  Labor  spans  majestic  rivers,  suspends  bridges  over  deep 
ravines,  pierces  solid  mountains,  makes  the  furnace  blaze, 
tlic  anvil  ring-,  tlie  wheel  turn  round,  and  tlie  town  appear." 

"■  Cobblers  abandoned  their  stalls  to  give  lessons  on  politi- 
cal economy;  blacksmiths  suffered  their  fires  to  go  out, 
wlnle  they  stirred  up  tlie  fires  of  faction;  tailors  neglected 
their  own  measures  to  criticise  the  measures  of  govern- 
ment." 

"■  France  arrests  the  attention;  Napoleon  rose  and  seated 
himself  on  the  throne  of  the  Bourbons;  he  pointed  the 
tluuider  of  his  artillery  at  Italy,  and  she  fell  before  him;  he 
levelled  his  lightning  at  Spain,  and  she  trembled;  he  sounded 
the  knell  of  vengeance  on  the  plains  of  Austerlitz,  and  all 
Europe  was  at  his  feet;  lie  was  greater  than  Caesar;  lie  was 
greater  than  Alexander." 

The  tendency  to  a  "sing-song"  or  monotonous  tone  in 
the  reading  of  poetry  (caused  generally  by  marking  the 
rhythm  by  the  voice  Avitliout  regard  to  the  sense)  can  be 
remedied  by  transposing  the  clauses — putting  the  lines  into 
plain  prose — thereljy  making  the  meaning  more  prominent 
and  destroying  the  regularity  of  the  accent;  as, 

"  And  once,  behind  a  rick  of  bnrley, 
Thus  looking  out  did  Hurry  stand; 
The  iiioou  was  full  and  sliining  clearly, 
And  crisp  with  frost  the  stubble  land." 

Behind  a  rick  of  barley,  Harry  stood,  looking  out.  The 
moon  was  full;  it  shone  clearly.  The  stubble  laud  was 
crisp  with  frost. 


STYLES    OF    EEADIJ^G. 


All  Styles  of  Reading  can  be  grouped  under  a  few  general 
heads,  with  subdivisions  exjiressive  of  their  various  modifi- 
cations. No  strict  classification  is  possible.  For  example, 
•wlule  all  Didactic,  Narrative  and  Descriptive  styles  are  in 
their  simplest  forms  Unemotional;  all  Noble,  Patriotic  and 
Impassioned  styles  more  or  less  Oratorical,  the  different 
stvles  are  often  blended,  and  discrimination  must  be  made 
accordingly.  A  narrative  may  be  unemotional  in  some 
parts,  while  descriptive,  impassioned,  solemn,  pathetic, 
humorous,  or  all  of  them,  in  others.  As  a  rule,  the  pre- 
vailing style  of  the  selection  should  decide  its  character. 
Several  terms  can  be  used  when  necessary.  A  knowledge 
of  the  style  of  piece  to  be  j-ead  is  essential  to  the  student,  in 
order  that  he  may  decide  upon  its  elocutionary  effect. 


In  all  forms  of  Vocal  exercise,  theory  is  of  less  con- 
Bcquence  than  practice.  But  it  is  desirable  that  the  student 
should  understand  the  few  technical  terms  which  it  is 
necessary  to  employ  in  Elocution,  and  be  able  to  properly 
apply  them.  This  is  essential  with  students  who  are  fitting 
themselves  for  the  profession  of  teaching. 


Analysis. 


23 


ANALYSIS. 
Styles  of  Reading. 


r 

Unemotional. 

Oratorical, 

Grave. 

Didactic. 

Noble. 

Solemn. 

Narrative. 

Patriotic. 

Reverential. 

Descriptive. 

Impassioned. 

Pathetic. 

Animated. 

Conversational 

Humorous. 

Joyous. 

Dramatic. 

Comic. 

Qualities  op  Voice. 

Pure. 

Oral. 

Orotund. 

Nasal. 

Guttural. 

Falsetto. 

Aspirate. 


Force. 


Kind. 

Degree. 

Place  or  Stress. 

Effusive. 

Very  soft. 

Radical. 

Expulsive. 

Soft. 

IMedian. 

Explosive. 

Medium. 

Final. 

Loud. 

Thorough. 

Very  loud. 

Compound. 
Intermittent. 

Time. 

Pitch. 

* 

Slides. 

Very  slow. 

Very  low. 

Monotone. 

Slow. 

Low. 

Semitone. 

Medium. 

Medium. 

Wholetone. 

Quick. 

High. 

Tliird. 

Very  quick. 

Very  high. 

Fifth. 

Octave. 

Circumflex. 

24  Analysis. 


Practical  Application  op  Analysis. 

1. 

"O'er  all  the  peaceful  world  the  smile  of  heaven  lies."  ■ 

Descriptive  style,  Pure  qualit3-,   Medium,  Expulsive    force,  Median  stress, 
Medium  time,  Medium  pitch,  Whole  Tone  slide. 

2. 

"  For  I  am  poor  and  miserably  old." 

Pathetic  style,  Pure  quality,  Soft,  Effusive  force.  Tremor,  Slow  time.  Low 
pitch,  Semi-tonic  slide. 

3. 

"  Sound  drums  and  trumpets,  bold!)'  and  cheerfully." 

Joyous  style.  Orotund  quality,  Loud,  Expulsive  force.  Radical  stress,  Quick 
time.  High  pitch.  Whole  Tone  slide. 

4. 

"  Hail,  holy  light!  offspring  of  heaven  first-born  I" 

Noble  style.  Orotund  quality,  Jledium,  Expulsive  force.  Median  stress.  Me- 
dium time.  Medium  pitch.  Whole  Tone  slide. 


"  At  midnight  in  the  forest  shades  — ." 

Descriptive  style.  Aspirate  quality.  Soft,  Effusive  force,  Median  stress.  Slow 
time.  Low  pitch,  Monotone. 

6. 

"You  must  attend  to  the  business  at  once." 

Didactic  style.  Pure  quality.  Medium,  Expulsive  force.  Radical  stress,  Medium 
tone.  Medium  pitch,  Whole  Tone  slide. 

7. 

"There  is  no  terror,  Cassius,  in  your  threats." 

Conversational,  Pure,  Medium,  Expulsive,  Radical,  Medium  time,  Medium 
pitch,  Whole  Tone. 

[The  precedmg  examples  can  be  somewhat  modified  according  to  individual 
taste.] 


QUALITIES    OF    YOICE. 


Qucality  {timbre  in  Music)  is  the  kind  of  tone  produced  by 
the  vocal  organs. 

All  tone  has  more  or  less  Force,  dependent  upon  the 
manner  in  which  it  is  prodncecl.  The  terms  Effusive  (a 
pouring  out),  Expulsive  (a  driving  out),  and  Explosive  (a 
bursting  out),  refer  to  the  Kind  or  quality  of  Force. 

[For  convenience,  examples  of  Quality  of  Voice  are  combined  with  Kind  of 
Force.] 

PURE. 

Pure  Tone  is  the  clear  tone  in  which  children  talk  before 
acquiring  bad  habits  of  utterance.  It  characterizes  the 
natural  speakiug  voice  when  fi'ce  from  defects,  and  is 
therefore  the  only  Quality  of  Voice  suitable  for  ordinary 
reading. 

Effusive  (Didactic). 

In  Effusive  Force  the  breath  is  effused  or  given  out  gently, 
ti'anquilly  and  without  effort. 

8. 

When  the  act  of  reflection  takes  place  in  the  mind,  when  we  look 
at  ourselves  in  the  light  of  thought,  we  discovci'  that  our  iifc  is  em- 
bosomed in  beauty.  Behind  us,  as  we  go,  all  things  assume  pleasing 
forms,  as  clouds  do  far  off.  The  soul  will  not  know  either  deformity 
■or  pain.  If  in  the  hours  of  clear  reason  we  should  sneak  the  severest 
truth,  we  shoitld  say  that  we  had  never  made  a  sacrifice.  In  these 
hours  the  mind  seems  so  great  that  nothing  can  be  taken  from  it  that 
seems  much.  For  it  is  only  the  finite  that  has  wrought  and  suffered; 
the  infinite  lies  stretched  in  smiling  repose. 

Spiritual  Laws. — R.\lph  Waldo  Emerson. 


26  Qualities  of  Voice. 


9. 

Thou  know'st  that  through  our  tears 

Of  hiisty,  selfish  weeping 
Comes  surer  sun;  and  for  our  petty  fears 

Of  loss,  thou  hast  in  keeping 
A  greater  gain  than  all  of  which  we  dreamed. 

Thou  knowest  that  in  grasping 
The  hright  possessions  which  so  precious  seemed 

We  lose  them;  but,  if  clasping 
Thy  faithful  hand,  we  tread  with  steadfast  feet 

The  path  of  Ih}-  appointing, 
There  waits  for  us  a  treasury  of  sweet 

Delight;  royal  anointing 
With  oil  of  gladness  and  of  strength! 

Jienunciaiion.—B.E-LKii  Hukt  Jackson. 

EFFusrv^E  {Narratwe). 
10. 

Faith,  in  the  next  room,  seems  to  have  wakened  from  a  frightened 
dream,  and  I  can  hear  voices  through  the  wall.  Her  mother  is  sing- 
ing to  her  and  soothing  her  in  the  broken  words  of  some  old  lullaby 
with  which  Phoebe  used  to  sing  Roy  and  me  to  sleep  years  and  years 
ago.  The  unfamiliar,  home-like  sound  is  pleasant  in  the  silent 
house.  Phoebe  on  her  way  to  bed  is  stopping  on  the  garret-stairs  to 
listen  to  it.  Even  the  cat  comes  mewing  up  to  the  door  and  purring 
as  I  have  not  heard  the  creature  purr  since  the  old  Sunday-night  sing- 
ing, hushed  so  long  ago. 

The  Gate^  Ajar.^-'Ehiz.  Stuakt  Phelps. 

11. 

Then  he  sat  down  still  and  speechless, 
On  the  ])ed  of  IMinnehaha, 
At  the  feet  of  Laughing  AVater, 
At  those  willing  feet  that  never 
More  would  lightly  run  to  meet  him. 
Never  more  would  lightly  follow. 


Qualities  of  Voice.  27 

With  both  hands  his  face  he  covered. 
Seven  long  da3's  and  nights  he  sat  there; 
As  if  in  a  swoon  he  sat  tliere, 
Speechless,  motionless,  unconscious 
Of  the  dayliglit  or  the  darkness. 

Hiawatha. — Hekry  W.  Longfellow. 

EFFUsrvE  {Descriptive). 

12. 

It  was  a  mild,  serene,  midsummer's  night;  the  sky  was  without  a 
cloud;  the  winds  were  quiet;  the  Pleiades,  just  above  the  horizon, 
shed  their  sweet  influence  in  the  east.  At  length  the  thnid  approach 
of  twilight  became  more  perceptible;  the  intense  blue  of  the  sky 
began  to  soften;  the  smaller  stars,  like  little  children,  went  first  to 
rest.  Hands  of  angels,  hidden  from  mortal  eyes,  shifted  the  scenery 
of  the  heavens;  the  glories  of  night  dissolved  into  the  glories  of 
dawn. 

Sunrise. — Edward  Everett. 

•  13. 

All  sights  were  mellowed  and  all  sounds  subdued; 

The  hills  seeined  fartlier,  and  the  streams  sang  low; 
As  in  a  dream  the  distant  woodman  hewed 

His  winter  log,  with  many  a  muffled  blow. 
The  sentinel  cock  upon  the  hill-side  crew, 

Crew  thrice,  and  all  was  stiller  tlian  before. 
Silent,  till  some  replying  warder  blew 

His  alien  horn,  and  then  was  heard  no  more. 

The  Closivg  Scene. — Thomas  Buchanan  Eead. 

Expulsive  {Didactic). 

In  Expulsive  Force  the  breath  is  exi^ellecl,  or  driven  out 
forcibly,  Avith  the  amount  of  effort  naturally  made  in  speech 
and  in  ordinary  reading.  It  is,  therefore,  the  most  common 
kind  of  force. 


28  Qualities  of  Voice. 


14. 

Natural  history  may,  I  am  convinced,  take  a  profound  hold  upon 

practical  life  by  its  intlucuce  over  our  liucr  feelings.     To  a  person 

uiiiiistrucled  in  ualural  history,  his  country  or  seaside  stroll  is  a  walk 

tlnougli  a  gallery  lilled  witii  wonderlul   works  of  art,  nine  tenths  of 

which  have  their  faces  turned  to  the  wall.     Teach  him  something  of 

natural  history,  and  you  place  iuhisliands  a  catalogue  of  those  which 

arc  worth  turning  round.     Surely  our  innocent  pleasures  are  not  so 

abimdant  in  this  life,  that  we  can  afford  to  despise  this  or  any  source 

of  them. 

The  Value  of  Science— Vroy.  T.  H.  Huxley. 

15. 

All  8Je  architects  of  Fate, 

Working  in  tiiese  walls  of  Time; 
Some  with  massive  deeds  and  great, 

Some  with  ornaments  of  rhyme. 
For  the  structure  that  we  raise 

Time  is  with  materials  filled; 
Our  to  days  and  yesterdays 

Arc  the  blocks  with  which  we  build. 

The  Builders.— Ue^uy  W.  Longfellow, 

Expulsive  {Narrative). 

16. 

The  Major  sat  down  at  his  accustomed  tabic,  and  while  the  waiters 
went  to  bring  him  his  toast  anil  his  newspaper,  he  surveyed  his 
letters  through  his  gold  double  eye-gla.ss,  examined  one  pretty  note 
after  another  and  laid  them  by  in  order.  There  were  large  solemn 
dinnir  cards,  snguTstive  of  three  cour.ses  and  heavy  conversation; 
there  were  neat  little  conlidential  noles,  and  a  note  from  a  marquis, 
written  on  thick  oflicial  paper.  Having  perused  them  the  :\Iajor 
took  out  hie  pocket-b()(jk  to  see  on  what  days  he  was  disengaged,  and 
which  of  these  many  hospitable  calls  he  could  afford  to  accept  or 

decline. 

Pendennvi.—'^ii.  M.  TnACKEHAT. 


Qualities  of  Voice.  20 

17. 

A  dcwdrop  falling  on  the  wWCi  sea  wave 
Excliiimt'd  iu  four,  "I  pcrisli  iti  this  gravel" 
But,  iu  a  shell  received,  that  drop  of  dew 
Unto  a  pcail  of  marvellous  buaiil}"  grew; 
And,  happy  now,  tlie  grace  did  magnify, 
Which  thrust  it  forth,  as  it  had  feared,  to  die, 
Until  again,  "  I  perish  quite,"  it  said, 
Torn  by  lude  diver  from  its  ocean  bed. 
O  unbelieving!  so  it  came  to  gleam 
Chief  jewel  iu  a  monarch's  diadem. 

The  Dewdrop. — Richard  C.  Tkekch. 

Expulsive  (Descnpiive). 

18. 

In  that  quarter  of  London  in  v.hicli  Golden  Square  is  situated, 
there  is  a  bygone,  faded,  tumble-down  street,  with  two  irregular  rows 
of  tall,  meager  houses,  which  seem  to  have  stared  each  other  out  of 
countenance  years  ago.  The  very  chimneys  appear  to  have  grown 
dismal  and  melancholy,  from  having  had  nothing  better  to  look 
at  than  the  chimneys  over  the  way.  The  fowls  who  peck  about 
the  kennels,  jerking  their  bodies  hither  and  thither  with  a  gait  which 
none  but  town  fowls  are  ever  seeu  to  adopt,  are  perfectly  in  keeping 
with  the  crazy  habitations  of  their  owners.  Dingy,  ill-plumed  drowsy 
flutterers,  sent,  like  many  of  the  neighboring  children,  to  get  a  liveli- 
hood in  the  streets,  they  hop  from  stone  to  stone  in  forlorn  search  of 
some  hidden  eatable  in  the  mud,  and  can  scarcely  raise  a  crow  among 
them, 

Nicholas  Nickleby. — Charles  Dickens, 

19. 

The  skies  are  blue  above  my  head, 

The  prairie  green  below, 
And  flickering  o'er  the  tufted  grass 

The  shifting  shadows  go. 
Far  in  tlie  East,  like  low-hung  clouds 

The  waving  woodlands  lie; 
Far  in  the  West,  the  glowing  plain 

Melts  warmly  in  tho  sky: 


30  Qualities  of  Voice. 

No  accent  wounds  the  reverent  air, 

No  foot-print  dints  the  sod. 
Loue  in  the  liglit  the  prairie  lies 

Rapt  in  a  dream  of  God. 

Pike  County  Ballads. — Johk  11a y. 

Expulsive  {Conversational). 

20. 

Trnh'  we  public  characters  have  a  tough  time  of  it!  And  among 
all  tlie  town  officers  cliosen  at  March  meeting,  wliere  is  he  that  sus- 
tains, for  a  single  year,  the  burden  of  such  manifold  duties  as  are 
imposed  upon  the  Town  Pump?  Tlie  title  of  "town  treasurer"  is 
rightfully  mine,  as  guardian  of  the  best  treasure  that  the  town  has. 
The  overseers  of  the  poor  ought  to  make  me  their  chairman,  since  1 
provide  bountifully  for  the  pauper,  without  expense  to  him  that  pays 
taxes.  I  am  at  the  head  of  tlie  fire  department,  and  one  of  the 
physicians  to  the  board  of  health.  As  a  keeper  of  the  peace,  all 
water-drinkers  will  confess  me  equal  to  the  constable.  I  perform 
some  of  the  duties  of  the  town  clerk,  by  promulgating  public  notices, 
when  they  are  pasted  on  my  front.  To  speak  within  bounds,  I  am 
the  chief  person  of  the  municipality,  and  exhibit,  moreover,  an  ad- 
mirable pattern  to  my  brother  officers,  by  the  cool,  steady,  upright, 
downright,  and  im. partial  discharge  of  my  business,  and  the  constancy 
with  which  I  stand  to  my  post. 

A  Bill  from  the  Town  Pump. — Nath.\niel  Hawthorne. 

21. 

"Great  praise  the  Duke  of  ^larlboro'  won. 

And  our  good  Prince  Eugene." 
"  Why,  'twas  a  very  wicked  thing," 

Said  little  Wilhelmine. 
"And  everybody  praised  the  Duke 

Who  this  great  fight  did  win." 
"  But  what  good  came  of  it  at  last?" 

Quoth  little  Peterkin. 
"  Why,  that  I  cannot  tell."  said  he, 

"  But  'twas  a  famous  victory." 

The  Baltic  of  Blenheim.— Ro-bert  Southet. 


V 


Qualities  of  Voice.  31 


Explosive. 

In  ExplosiA'e  Force  the  breath  is  ex]iloded,  or  given  out 
suddenly,  with  a  jerking  or  bursting  effect.  It  is  the  most, 
abrupt,  violent  and  least  used  of  the  three  kinds  of  force, 
being  employed  only  in  shouting,  military  command,  and 
the  expression  of  great  anger  or  indignation.  It  is  jiro- 
duced  by  vigorous  action  of  the  abdominal  muscles,  and 
should  never  be  given  from  the  chest,  such  effort  being  un- 
natural and  hurtful.  Wlien  properly  taken  there  is  no 
better  exercise  for  the  development  of  the  abdominal 
muscles,  but  caution  is  necessary  in  its  use. 

22. 

You  rely  upon  the  mildness  of  my  temper,  you  play  upon  the 
meekness  of  my  disposition!  But  mark!  I  give  j'ou  six  hours  and  a 
half  to  consider  this.  If  you  then  agree,  without  any  condition,  to 
do  everj'tliing  on  earth  that  I  choose,  why  I  may,  in  time,  forgive 
you.  If  not,  don't  enter  tlie  same  hemisphere  ^vith  me;  don't  dare 
to  breathe  the  same  air,  or  use  the  same  light.  I'll  disown  you!  I'll 
disinherit  you!     I'll  never  call  you  Jack  again! 

The  Rivals. — Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan. 
23. 

Deserted!  cowards!  traitors!     Set  me  free! 
But  for  a  moment!     I  relied  on  you; 
Had  I  relied  upon  myself  alone 
I  had  kept  them  still  at  bay!    I  kneel  to  yoa. 
Let  me  but  loose  a  moment,  if  'tis  only 
To  rush  upon  your  swords. 

Virginius. — Sheridan  Knowles 


32  Qualities  of  Voice. 


OROTUND. 

The  Orotund  {ore  rotundo,  round  mouth)  is  the  fulles6 
uud  grandest  tone  the  voice  is  capable  of  producing,  '•'  the 
highest  i)crfcction  of  the  liunuin  voice."  The  term  is  used 
by  the  poet  Hoi-ace  in  describing  the  flowing  eloquence  of 
the  Greeks.  It  is  as  natural  as  the  Pure  tone,  or  ordinary 
S})eaking  voice,  though  not  so  common,  being  suitable  only 
for  the  expression  of  grand,  solemn  and  powerful  emotions. 

The  vowel  0  is  an  orotund  sound,  requiring  the  mouth  to 
be  opened  to  its  fullest  extent,  and  consequently  possessing 
great  resonance.  The  vowels  A,  E  and  I,  on  'he  contiary, 
requiring  but  a  slight  opening  of  the  mouth,  are  compara- 
tivelv  til  in,  flat  sounds. 

For  practice  upon  the  Orotund,  pronounce  the  vowel  0 
in  the  natural  way,  as  forcibly  as  possible;  then  loitliout  in 
the  least  clianging  the  position  of  tlie  month,  pronounce  the 
long  and  the  short  sounds  of  the  vowels  A,  E  and  I,  and 
words  containing  these  sounds.  Although  the  tones  ]iro- 
duced  so  mechanicallv  will  at  first  sound  unnatural  and 
possibly  absurd,  that  effect  will  disappear  as  the  muscles 
become  more  flexible  with  practice.  It  will  be  found  (hat 
such  exercises  require  the  most  thorough  action  of  the  vocal 
oi'gans,  and  are  therefore  of  the  greatest  benefit. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  tliat  the  difference  between  the 
Fure  and  Orotnnd  is  one  of  Quality,  not  of  Force  or  of 
Pitch,  although,  owing  to  the  greater  resonance  of  the  Oro- 
tund, it  sounds  both  louder  in  Force  and  lower  in  Pitch. 
It  is  the  same  difference  which  exists  between  a  piano  and 
an  organ,  a  flute  and  a  trumpet,  when  precisely  the  same 
note  !s  produced  on  each. 

[It  is  suggested  that  practice  upon  tlie  Orotund  be  limited  at  first  to  single 
eotinds,  words,  and  phrases,  its  application  to  entire  sentences  bolongiu.?  ruuitj 
to  the  advanced  and  artistic,  than  ta  the  simpl-  and  practical  f-^i's  of  lllocii- 
tion.] 


Qualttles  of  Voice.  33 


Effusive  Orottind. 

24. 

What,  thought  I,  is  this  vast  assemblsge  of  sepulchcrs  but  a 
treasuiy  of  humiliation;  a  liuge  pile  of  reiterated  homilies  on  the 
emptiness  of  renown,  and  the  certainty  of  oblivion?  Tt  is,  indeed, 
the  empire  of  Death;  his  great  and  shadowy  palace;  where  he  sits  in 
state,  mocking  at  the  relics  of  human  glory,  and  spreading  dust  and 
forgetf Illness  on  the  monuments  of  princes. 

How  idle  a  boast,  after  all,  is  the  immortality  of  a  name!  Time  is 
ever  silently  turning  over  his  pages.  We  are  too  much  engrossed  l)y 
the  story  of  the  present  to  think  of  the  character  and  Anecdotes  that 
gave  interest  to  the  past;  and  each  age  is  a  volume  thrown  aside  to 
be  speedily  forgotten.  The  idol  of  to-day  pushes  the  hero  of  yester- 
day out  of  our  recollection;  and  will,  in  turn,  be  supplanted  by  his 
successor  of  to-morrow. 

Westminster  Abbey. — Washington  Irving. 

25. 

God,  who  with  tlmnders  and  great  voices  kept 

Beneath  tln^  throne, — yet  at  wiV.,  has  swept 

All  back,  all  back  (said  he  in  Patmos  placed),- 

To  fill  the  heavens  with  silence  of  the  waste 

Which  lasted  half-an-hour! — Lo,  I  who  have  wept 

AH  day  and  night,  beseech  thee  by  my  tears 

And  l)y  that  dread  response  of  curse  and  groan 

Men  alternate  across  these  hemispheres. 

Vouchsafe  us  such  a  half-hour's  hush  alone 

In  compensation  for  our  stormy  years! 

As  heaven  has  paused  fi-om  song,  let  earth  from  moan. 

Heaven  and  Earth. — Eliz.  Barrett  Brownino. 

Expulsive  Orotund. 
26. 

Working-men,  walk  worthy  of  your  vocation!  You  have  a  noble 
escutcheon;  disgrace  it  not.  Stoop  not  from  your  lofty  throne  to 
defile  yourselves  by  contamination  with  any  form  of  evil.     Labor, 


34  Qualities  of  Voice. 

allied  with  virtue,  may  look  up  to  heaven  and  not  blush,  -while  all 
worldly  dignifies,  degraded  to  vice,  will  leave  their  owner  without  a 
corner  of  the  universe  in  which  to  hide  liis  shame.  Be  ye  sure  of  this, 
that  the  man  of  toil,  who  works  in  a  spirit  of  obedient  loving  homage, 
does  no  less  than  cherubim  and  seraphim  in  their  loftiest  flights  and 
holiest  songs. 

The  Dignity  of  Labor. — Rev.  Newman  Hall. 


'o'- 


27. 

And  you,  ye  five  wild  torrents,  fiercely  glad, 

Who  called  5'ou  forth  from  night  and  utter  death, 

From  dark  and  icy  caverns  called  you  forth, 

Down  those  precipitous,  black,  jagged  rocks. 

Forever  shattered,  and  the  same  forever? 

Who  g?.\o.  you  your  invulnerable  life. 

Your  strength,  your  speed,  your  iwrj,  and  your  joy. 

Unceasing  thimder  and  eternal  foam? 

And  who  commanded  and  the  silence  came, — 

"Here  let  the  billows  stiffen  and  have  rest." 

Hymn  to  Mont  Blanc. — Samuel  Taylor  Colebidge. 

Explosive  Orotund, 

28. 

These  abominable  principles,  and  this  more  abominable  avowal  of 
them,  demand  the  most  decisive  indignation.  I  call  upon  that  right 
reverend  and  this  most  learned  bench,  to  vindicate  the  religion  of 
their  God,  to  defend  and  support  the  justice  of  tlieir  country.  I  call 
upon  the  honor  of  your  lordships  to  reverence  the  dignit}^  of  your 
ancestors,  and  maintain  your  own.  I  call  upon  the  spirit  and 
humanity  of  my  country  to  vindicate  the  national  character. 

The  American  War. — Lord  Chatham, 

29. 

Ye  crags  and  peaks,  I'm  with  you  once  again  1 
O  sacred  forms,  how  proud  you  look! 
How  high  you  lift  your  heads  into  the  skyi 
How  huge  you  are,  liow  mighty  and  how  freel 


i 


Qualities  of  Voice.  35 

Ye  guards  of  liberty, 
I'm  with  you  ouce  again!    I  call  to  you 
With  all  my  voice !     I  hold  my  hands  to  you 
To  show  the}'  still  are  free.     I  rush  to  you 
As  though  I  could  embrace  you  I 

William  I'ell. — Sheridan  Knoytles. 

ASPIRATE. 

The  Aspirate  Quality  or  Y/hisper  is  used  in  reading  only 
on  certain  words,  and  its  use  is  a  matter  of  tnste,  preference 
being  usually  given  to  the  Breath  tone,  or  Half-whisper. 

The  exercise  of  Whispering  demands  frequent  and  ener- 
getic inspiration,  and  forcible  expiration  of  the  breath,  as 
well  as  great  accuracy  in  articulation.  It  is  therefore 
specially  valuable  in  the  development  of  the  vocal  organs, 
provided  that  it  is  properly  performed,  the  impetus  to  the 
breath  being  given  by  the  abdominal  muscles. 

The  exercise  is  recommended  for  concert  drill  in  classes. 
as  well  as  for  individuals,  though  being  naturally  exhaust- 
ing when  prolonged,  it  should  be  judiciously  used.  It  can 
be  practiced  with  each  Kind  and  Degree  of  Force.  The 
Aspirate  quality  is  the  natural  expression  of  vagueness, 
wonder,  mystery,  impatience,  disgust,  secresy  and  fear. 

[The  following  exercises  are  to  be  practiced  with  the  Whisper  and  the  Half- 
whisper.] 

Effusive. 

30. 

All  heaven  and  earth  are  still,  though  not  in  sleep. 
But  breathless  as  we  grow  when  feeling  most; 
And  silent  as  we  stand  in  thoughts  too  deep. 

Childe  Harold. — Bykon. 


36  Qualities  of  Voice. 

Expulsive. 

31. 

Soldiers!  You  are  now  witliin  a  few  paces  of  the  enpm3''s  out- 
posts! Let  every  man  keep  the  strictest  silence  under  pain  of 
instant  death. 

Explosive.  ' 

32. 

Hark!  I  hear  the  bugles  of  the  enemy!  They  are  on  the  march! 
For  the  boats!     Forward! 


FAULTY   QUALITIES. 

[It  is  not  necessary  to  explain  at  length  the  various  qualities  of  Impure,  or 
Faulty  tones.  These  result  from  incorrect  habits  of  breathing,  wrong  use  of  the 
throat  and  imperfect  articulation.  They  sei-ve  to  express  disagreeable  and 
artificial  emotions. 

Illustrations  are  given  to  show  the  use  that  can  be  made  of  them  by  the  pro- 
fessional elocutionist,  but  the  exercises  are  not  recommended  for  the  general 
student.  So  far  as  he  possesses  the  faults  which  they  illustrate,  it  will  be  well  to 
employ  them  for  the  purpose  of  correction.] 


Guttural. 

The  Guttural  Quality  {guttur,  the  throat)  is  the  deep, 
rasping  sound  emitted  from  the  larynx.  It  expresses  loath- 
ing, rage,  revenge,  and  extreme  horror. 

33. 

How  like  a  fawning  publican  he  looks! 

I  hate  him  for  lie  is  a  Christian. 

If  I  can  catch  him  once  upon  the  hip 

I  will  feed  fat  tlic  ancient  grudge  I  bear  him. 

Cursed  be  my  tribe  if  I  forgive  him! 

Merchant  of  Venice. — Shakespeare. 


Qualities  of  Voire.  37 

Oral. 

The  Oral  Quality  {oris,  the  mouth)  is  the  mouthing 
tone,  resulting  from  slovenly  articulation,  particularly  when 
caused  by  affectation  or  indolence.  It  is  used  to  represent 
the  tones  of  a  fop  or  an  affected  fine  lady. 


34. 

Bwighton  is  filling  fast  now.  You  see  dwoves  of  ladies  evewy  day 
on  horseback,  widing  about  in  all  diwections.  There  are  two  or 
thwee  always  will  laugh  when  I  meet  them — tliey  do  weally.  I  fancy 
they  wegard  me  with  interest. 

Lord  Dundreary. 

Nasal. 

The  Nasal  Quality  {nasus,  the  nose)  is  produced  by  forc- 
ing the  breath  into  the  nose  before  it  leaves  the  mouth, 
thereby  depriving  the  tone  of  its  clearness  and  roundness, 
giving  it  a  sharp,  twanging  effect.  It  is  a  common  fault 
with  those  who  in  speaking  or  reading  do  not  open  the 
mouth  sufficiently.  It  is  used  in  imitation  of  the  quality 
of  voice  which  prevails  in  certain  localities. 


36. 

But  the  deacon  swore  (as  deacons  do, 

Witli  an  "  I  dew  vum"  or  an  "  I  tell  j'eou,") 

He  would  build  one  shay  to  beat  the  laown 

'N  the  keounty'n'  all  the  kentry  raoun'; 

It  should  be  so  built  that  it  could'a'  break  daown — ■ 

"  Fur,"  said  the  deacon,   "  t's  mighty  plain 

That  the  weakes'  place  nius'  stau'  the  strain; 

'N'  the  way  t'  fix  it  uz  I  maintain 

Is  only  jest 
T'  make  that  uz  strong  uz  the  rest." 

The  One  Hoss  Shay. — Oliver  Wendell  Holivtes. 


2S50Gi 


38  Degrees  of  Force. 


Falsetto. 
The  Falsetto  Qucility  is  produced  when  the  natural  voice 
breaks  or  gets  beyond  its  compass.     It  has  little  volume  or 
resonance,  and  is,  consequently,  a  weak  tone  suitable  for  the 
expression  of  sickness,  childishness,  and  old  age. 

36. 

There  was  a  silence  for  a  little  ^\'hile,  then  an  old  man  replied  in  a 
thin,  trembling  voice,  "  Nicholas  Vedder,  why  he's  been  dead  and 
gone  these  eighteen  years.  There  was  a  wooden  tombstone  in  the 
churchyard  that  used  to  tell  all  about  him,  but  that's  gone  too." 

Rip  Van  Winkle. — AVashlngton  Ikvxng. 
DEGREES   OF  FORCE. 

[There  can  be  various  Degrees  of  one  Kind  of  Force.  Very  Soft  Effusive  is  as 
soft  as  possible.  Soft  Effusive  is  only  a  little  softer  than  the  ordiiiarv  speaking 
voice,  wliich  is  naturally  Expulsive,  as  we  seldom  talk  either  in  Effusive  or  Ex- 
plosive tones.  Loud  force  can  be  either  Expulsive  or  Explosive.  Very  loud 
force  naturally  becomes  Explosive.] 

Soft  (piano  in  Music)  and  Very  Soft  (pianissimo)  Degrees 
of  Force,  express  subdued,  tender,  and  pathetic  emotions. 
Selection  between  these  two  degrees  depends  upon  the  taste 
of  the  reader. 

Very  Soft. 
37. 

It  was  a  night  of  holy  calm,  when  the  zephyr  sways  the  young 
spring  leaves,  and  whispers  among  the  hollow  reeds  its  dreamy 
nuisic.  No  sound  was  heard  but  the  last  sob  of  some  weary  wave 
telling  its  story  to  the  smooth  pebbles  of  the  beach,  and  then  all  was 
still  as  the  breast  when  the  spirit  has  departed. 

Spartaeus  to  the  Gladiators. — Elijah  Kellogg. 

Soft. 

38. 
No  stir,  no  sound!     The  shadows  creep. 
Tlie  old  and  young  in  common  trust, 
Are  lying  down  to  wait,  asleep, 


Degrees  of  Force.  39 

While  Life  and  Joy  will  come  to  keep 

Wit.Ii  Death  and  Pain  what  tryst  they  must. 
O  faith!  for  faith  almost  too  great! 
Come  slow.  O  da}^  of  evil  freiu'lit! 
O  village  hearts,  sleep  well,  sleep  late! 

The  Village  Lights. — Helen  Hunt  Jackson. 

Medium. 

Medium  or  Moderate  Force  (inezzo  piano  in  Music)  char- 
a-cterizes  the  natural  speaking  voice,  and  is  therefore  appro- 
priate for  all  ordinary  reading. 

39. 

Not  many  of  us  can  ever  behold  even  the  outside  of  a  palace;  it  is 
a  rare  person  who  ever  gets  to  the  iuside  of  one.  With  the  advantages 
of  birth,  rank,  station,  power,  a  man  might  not  in  the  actual  world 
meet  -with  a  sublime  soul  once  in  a  hundred  years,  yet  through  the 
mediation  of  Shakespeare  we  can  change  a  few  quiet  hours  into 
companionship  with  souls  more  choice  than  we  could  meet  with  in 
experience  if  we  lived  for  centuries. 

Human  Life  in  Shakespeare. — Henry  Giles. 

Loud  (forte  in  Music)  and  Very  Loud  [fortissimo)  Degrees 
of  Force  express  strong  emotions. 

Loud. 
40. 

Press  on!  surmount  the  rocky  steeps. 

Climb  boldl}^  o'er  the  torrent's  arch; 
He  fails  alone  who  feebly  creeps; 

He  wins  who  dares  the  hero's  march. 
Be  thou  a  hero!  let  thy  might 

Tramp  on  eternal  snows  its  way. 
And  through  the  ebon  walls  of  night. 

Hew  down  a  passage  unto  day. 

Press  On. — Park  Benjamin. 


40  Stress. 

Very  Loud. 

41. 

Thy  dazzled  eye 
Beholds  this  man  in  a  false  glaring  light 
Which  conquest  and  success  have  thrown  upon  him; 
Dids't  thou  but  view  him  right,  thou'dst  see  him  black 
With  murder,  treason,  sacrilege  and — crimes 
That  strike  my  soul  with  horror  but  to  name  them. 
And  as  I  love  my  country,  millions  of  worlds 
Should  never  buy  me  to  be  like  that  Caesar! 

Cato. — Joseph  Addison. 


!/ 


STRESS. 

The  term  Stress  refers  not  to  the  Kind  or  Degree  of 
Force,  but  to  the  manner  of  applying  it  to  a  word  or  syl- 
lable. 

[Proper  application  of  Stress,  tliougli  adding  incalculably  to  expression  in 
rea<^ling,  is  less  important  than  correct  Quality  of  Voice,  suitable  degi-ees  of 
Time,  Titch,  and  Slides,  and  intelligent  Emphasis.  It  is  more  a  finish  and  orna- 
ment to  reailing  than  an  essential  element ;  therefore,  a  less  practical  matter 
than  those  referred  to. 

Practice  upon  all  forms  of  Stress— with  single  sounds— is  specially  recom- 
mended for  develojuneut  of  the  voice;  but  skill  is  needed  in  the  apphcation  of 
Stress  to  entire  sentences,  except  in  the  case  of  Expulsive  Radical,  which 
characterizes  the  ordinary  speaking  voice.  It  is  therefore  suggested  that  unless 
sufticient  progress  has  been  made  in  more  practical  and  necessary  subjects,  in- 
struction and  practice  upon  Stress  be  limited  to  single  soimds  and  words.] 


RADICAL   STRESS.  / 

Radical  or  Initial  Stress  {diminuendo  in  Music)  is 
placed,  as  its  name  indicates,  upon  the  radix,  root,  or  be- 
ginning of  the  word.  It  is  illustrated  by  the  blow  of  a 
hammer,  the  striking  of  a  bell,  or  a  clock.  It  exists  in  the 
utterance  of  all  sounds  which  convey  abrupt  or  startling 
emotious.     It  belongs  aI.so  in  less  violent  degree  to  the 


stress.  41 

natural  speaking  voice,  giving  clearness  and  decision  to  the 
utterance,  and  is  the  most  common  form  of  Stress. 

Expulsive  Radical. 
42. 

If  I  should  confess  the  truth  there  is  no  mere  earthly  immortality 
that  I  euvy  so  much  as  tlie  poets.  If  your  name  is  to  live  at  all,  it  is 
so  much  more  to  have  it  live  in  people's  hearts  than  only  in  their 
brains!  I  don't  know  that  one's  eyes  till  witli  tears  wiien  lie  thinks 
of  the  famous  inventor  of  logarithms,  but  a  song  of  Burns's  or  a 
hymn  of  Charles  Wesley's  goes  straight  to  your  heart,  and  you  can't 
help  loving  both  of  them,  the  sinner  as  well  as  the  saint. 

The  Poet  at  the  Breakfast  Table.— OhiYER  Wendell  Holmes. 

43. 

Man  is  his  ovi'n  star,  and  the  soul  that  can 
Render  an  honest  and  a  perfect  man 
Commands  all  light,  all  intiuence,  all  fate; 
Nothing  to  him  falls  early  or  too  late. 
Our  acts  our  angels  are,  or  good  or  ill. 
Our  fatal  shadovrs  that  walk  by  us  still. 

Honest  Man's  Fortniie. — Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 

Explosive  Radical. 
44. 

Long  since,  O  Catiline,  ought  the  Consul  to  have  ordered  thee  to 
execution,  and  brouglit  upon  thine  own  head  the  ruin  thou  hast  been 
meditating  against  others.  There  was  that  virtue  once  in  Rome  that 
a  wicked  citizen  was  held  more  execrable  than  the  deadliest  foe.  We 
have  a  law  still,  Catiline,  for  thee.  Think  not  that  we  are  powerless 
because  forbearing.  And  should  I  order  thee  to  be  instantly  seized 
and  put  to  death,  I  make  just  doubt  whether  all  good  men  w^ould  not 
think  it  done  rather  too  late  tljtm  any  man  too  cruelly. 

^   ^h<idiQn(i gainst  Catiline. — Cicero. 


42  Stress. 

45. 

If  tlioa  speak'st  false ! 
Upon  the  next  tree  shalt  thou  hang  alive 
Till  famine  cling  thee!     Arm,  arm,  and  out! 
If  tliis  which  he  avouches  dotli  appeal- 
There  is  no  flying  hence  nor  tarrying  liere! 
Ring  the  ahvnun  belli  blow  wind!  come  Avrackl 
At  least  we'll  die  with  harness  on  our  back! 

Macbeth. — Shakespeare  . 

MEDIAN   STRESS. 

Median  Stress  {siueU  in  Music)  is  placed  upon  tlie  middle 
of  the  sound.  It  is  the  most  agreeable  form  of  Stress,  and 
therefore  best  adapted  to  the  expression  of  harmonious 
ideas.  It  imparts  a  certain  smoothness  to  the  whole  sen- 
tence, giving  a  gliding  and  graceful,  not  broken  and  jerky 
movement.  ''  Median  Stress  is  more  or  less  a  conscious  and 
intentional  effect,  prompted  and  sustained  by  the  will.  It 
is  the  natural  utterance  of  those  emotions  which  allow  the 
intermingling  of  reflection  aiid  sentiment  with  expression, 
and  purposely  dwell  on  sound  as  a  means  of  enhancing  the 
effect." — Russell. 

Effusive  Median. 

46. 

April,  the  singing  month!  ^lany  voices  of  many  birds  call  for  res- 
urrection over  tlie  graves  of  flowers,  and  they  come  forth  opening 
and  glorified.  You  have  not  lost  what  God  lias  only  hidden.  Yon 
lose  nothing  in  strugsle,  in  trial,  in  bitter  distress.  If  called  to  shed 
thy  joys  as  trees  their  leaves;  if  the  affections  be  driven  back  into 
the  heart  as  the  life  of  flowers  to  their  roots,  be  patient.  Thou  slialt 
lift  up  thy  leaf-covered  boughs  again.  When  it  is  February  April  is 
not  far  off. 

The  Death  of  our  Almanac— Rey.  Henky  Ward  Beecher, 


stress.  43 

47. 

Leaves  have  their  time  to  fall. 
And  flowers  to  wither  ut  the  north  wind's  breath, 

And  stars  Lo  set;  but  .^ll 
Thou  hast  all  seasons  for  thine  own,  O  Death! 

We  know  when  moons  shall  wane, 
When  summer  birds  from  far  shall  cross  the  sea, 

When  autumn's  hue  shall  tinge  the  golden  grain. 
But  v/ho  shall  teach  us  when  to  look  for  thee! 

TJie  Hoar  of  Death. — Mrs.  Hemans. 

Expulsive  Median. 
48. 

Enrich  and  embellish  the  universe  as  j'ou  will,  it  is  only  a  temple  for 
the  heart  that  loves  truth  with  a  supreme  love.  The  laws  of  nature 
are  sublime,  but  there  is  a  moral  sublimity  before  which  the  highest 
intelligences  must  kneel  and  adore.  Scientific  truth  is  marvelous,  but 
moral  truth  is  divine,  and  whoever  breathes  its  air  and  Avalks  by  its 
light  has  found  the  lost  paradise. 

Education. — Horace  Mann. 

49. 

For  oh,  this  world  and  the  wrong  it  does! 

They  are  safe  in  heaven  witli  their  backs  to  it, 
The  Michaels  and  Rafuels,  you  hum  and  buzz 

Round  tlie  works  of,  you  of  the  little  wit. 
Do  their  eyes  contract  to  the  earth's  old  scope 

Now  that  they  see  God  face  lo  face? 
They  have  all  attained  to  be  poets,  I  hope; 

'Tis  their  holidaj'  now,  in  any  case. 

Old  Pictures  in  Florence. — Egbert  Browning. 

FINAL  STRESS. 

Final,  Vanishing  or  Terminal  Stress  {crescendo  in  Music) 
is  placed  upon  the  end  of  the  sound. 


44  Stress. 

Effusive  Final. 
Effu:;ive  Fiuiil  Stress  expresses  pleading  and  yearning. 

50. 

Oh,  the  blissful  meeting  to  come  one  day 
When  the  spirit  slips  out  of  its  house  of  clay; 
Wlieu  the  stiinders  by,  with  a  pitj'ing  sign 
Shall  softly  cover  this  face  of  mine: 
And  I  leap — ah,  whither?  who  can  know? 
But  outward,  onward  as  spirits  go. 
Until  eye  to  eye  without  fear  I  see 
God  and  ray  lost,  as  they  see  me. 

T/ie  Three  Meetings. — D.  M.  Craig. 

Expulsive  Final. 
Expulsive  Final  Stress  expresses  doggedness,  scorn  and 
great  determination. 

51. 

"  Brutus,  bay  not  me!     I'll  not  endure  it! 
You  forget  youiself  to  hedge  me  in. 
I  am  a  soldier,  I,  older  in  practice, 
Abler  than  yourself  to  make  conditions.-" 

Julius  CoBsar. — Shakespeare. 

Explosive  Final. 

Explosive  Final   Stress  expresses  great  anger  when  as 
sociated  with  defiance  or  revenge. 

52. 

Thou  slave!  thou  wretch!  thou  coward! 
Thou  little  valiant,  great  in  villain}'! 
Thou  ever  strong  upon  the  stronger  side! 
Thou  Fortune's  champion,  that  dost  never  fight 
But  when  her  humorous  ladyship  is  by, 
To  teach  thee  safety! 

King  John. — Shakespeare. 


stress.  45 


COMPOUND   STRESS. 

Compound  Stress  (for  which  there  is  no  equivalent  in 
Music)  is  compounded  or  made  of  the  "Radical  and  Final 
Stress  placed  upon  the  same  sound.  It  is  tlie  most  dis- 
agreeable form  of  Stress,  being  abrupt  and  snappish  in 
character.  It  is  generally  used  upon  v/ords  which  require  tlie 
circumflex  slide,  as  it  expresses  complex  and  varied  emotions, 
also  great  surprise,  obstinacy,  anger  and  contempt  which  is 
sarcastic  or  mocking,  as  distinguished  from  the  scorn  ex- 
pressed by  the  Final. 

53. 

What!   attribute  the   sacred   sanction   of  God  and  Nature  to  the 
massacres  of  the  Indian  scalping-kuife? 

The  American  War. — Lord  Chatham 

54. 

Gone  to  be  married!    Gone  to  swear  a  peace! 

False  blood  to  false  blood  joined!     Gone  to  be  friends! 

Shall  Lewis  have  Blanche  and  Blanche  these  provinces! 

King  John. — Shakespeahe. 

55, 

Must  I  budge? 

Must  I  observe  you?    Must  I  stand  and  crouch 

Under  your  testy  humor?     By  the  gods, 

You  shall  digest  the  venom  of  your  spleen 

Though  it  do  split  you;  for,  from  this  day  forth, 

I'll  use  you  for  my  mirth,  yea,  for  my  laughter 

When  you  are  waspish! 

Julius  Caesar. — Shakespeare 

THOROUGH   STRESS. 

Thorough  or  Through  Stress  {organ  tone  in  Music)  is 
placed  upon  tlie  wliole  of  the  sound.     It  is  illustrated  by 


46  Stress. 

common  street  cries,  and  is  cliiefly  used  in  shouting  or  call- 
ing where  a  full,  sustained  tone  is  necessary.  It  is  naturally 
emphatic,  hard  and  uncompromising  in  effect,  and  in  read- 
ing is  used  only  for  the  expression  of  such  feeling.  ''  A  due 
degree  of  Median  stress  in  conversation  distinguishes  the 
man  of  culture  from  the  boor.  The  latter  speaks  with  the 
thorough  stress." — Monroe. 

56. 

Now,  Thomas  Mowbray,  do  I  turn  to  thee, 
And  mark  ray  greeting  well ;  for  what  I  speak, 
My  Ijody  shall  make  good  upon  this  earth, 
Or  my  divine  soul  answer  it  in  heaven. 
Thou  art  a  traitor,  and  a  miscreant; 
Too  good  to  be  so,  and  too  bad  to  live. 

King  Richard  Second. — Shakespeare. 

INTERMITTENT   STRESS. 

Intermittent  Stress  or  Ti-emor  {tremolo  m  Music)  is 
placed  brokenly  or  tremulously  upon  the  sound.  It  is  the 
natural  expression  of  all  feeling  which  is  accompanied  by  a 
weakened  physical  condition  in  which  the  breath  comes  in 
jets  instead  of  in  a  continuous  stream.  It  therefore  char- 
acterizes the  utterance  of  some  forms  of  fear,  joy,  excite- 
ment; of  thrilling  tenderness,  sympath}^,  yearning  and 
pathos;  of  fatigue,  grief,  sickness  and  old  age.  It  should 
be  used  only  on  certain  words  and  phrases,  any  excess  of  it 
entirely  spoiling  its  effect. 

57. 

O  God!  to  clasp  those  fingers  close. 

And  yet  to  feel  so  lonely ! 
To  see  a  light  on  dearest  brows 
Which  is  the  daylight  only! 
Be  pitiful,  OGod! 
The  Cry  of  the  Human.-— 'Et.\z.  Barrett  Browning. 


Mommeni.  47 


58. 

Here  I  stand,  j'our  slave, 
A  poor,  infirm,  weak  and  despised  old  man. 

King  Lear. — Shakespeake, 

59. 

And  seel  she  stirs!  she  starts — she  moves — she  seems  to  feel 

The  thrill  of  life  along  her  keel, 

And  spurning  with  her  foot  the  ground 

With  one  exulting,  joyous  bound 

She  leaps  into  the  ocean's  arms  I 

Tlie  Launching  of  the  Ship. — LONGFELLOW. 

MOVEMENT, 

Movement  [time  in  Music)  refers  to  the  rate  of  utterance;^ 
and  is  one  of  the  most  important  elements  of  expression. 
"  As  an  illustration  of  the  power  of  movement,  observe  the 
difference  between  a  school-boy  gabbling  through  his  task 
in  haste  to  get  rid  of  it,  and  a  great  tragedian  whose  whole 
soul  is  rapt  in  the  part  of  Cato,  uttering  his  soliloquy  on 
immortality,  or  Hamlet  musing  on  the  great  themes  of  duty, 
life,  and  death." — Russell. 

[It  is  suggested  that  practice  upon  the  exercises  in  Movement  be  limited  to 
Slow,  Medium  and  Quick,  except  in  individual  cases  of  too  slow  or  too  rapid 
utterance.] 


(Very[siow/Movement[ythe[lea^used,lM 

only  for  the  strongest  emotions;  as,  profound  reverence, 

awe,  or  horror, 

60. 

In  thoughts  from  the  visions  of  tlie  night,  Avhen  deep  sleep  falleth 
on  men,  fear  came  upon  me,  and  trembling  which  made  all  my  bones 
to  shake.  Then  a  spirit  passed  before  my  face;  the  hair  of  my  flesh 
stood  up;  it  stood  still  but  I  could  not  discern  tlie  form  thereof;  an 
image  was  before  mine  eyes;  then  was  silence,  and  I  heard  a  voice 


48  Movement. 


saying,  "Shall  mortal  man  be  more  just  than  God?  shall  a  man  be 
more  pure  than  his  Maker?" — Bible. 

Slow. 

Slow  Movement  characterizes  the  utterance  of  repose, 
tenderness,  grief,  pathos,  vastness  and  great  power. 

61. 

So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan  that  moves 
To  tlie  pale  realms  of  shade  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 
Thou  go  not  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night. 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon;  but  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approacli  thy  grave 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 

Thanatopm. — Wsi.  Cullen  Bryant. 

Medium. 
Meditim  or  Moderate  Movement  is  used  in  the  ordinarv 
speaking  voice;  consequently,  in  all  ordinary  reading. 

62. 

An  immortal  instinct,  deep  witbin  the  spirit  of  man,  is  a  sense  of 
the  beautiful.  It  is  in  music,  perhaps,  that  the  soul  most  nearly  at- 
tains the  great  end  for  which  it  struggles  when  inspired  by  the  poetic 
sentiment — the  creation  of  beauty.  We  are  often  made  to  feel,  with  a 
shivering-  delight,  that  from  an  earthly  luirp  are  stricken  notes  which 
e.mnot  have  been  unfamiliar  to  the  angels.  The  old  bards  and 
minnesingers  had  advantages  which  we  do  not  possess,  and  Thomas 
Moore,  singing  his  own  songs,  was  perfecting  them  as  poems. 

The  Poetic  Principle. — Edgar  Allan  Poe. 

Quick. 
Quick  Movement  is  only  a  little  more  rapid  than  Medium, 
and  is  characteristic  of  excitement,  fear,  great  earnestness, 
playful  or  joyous  emotions. 


Pitcli. 


49 


63. 

Now,  by  the  lips  of  those  ye  love,  fair  gentlemea  of  France, 
Charge  for  the  goiden  lilies  uow,  upon  them  with  the  lance! 
A  thousand  spurs  ure  striking  deep,  a  thousand  spears  in  rest, 
A  thousand  kniglits  are  pressing  close  behind  the  snow-white  crest. 
And  in  they  burst,  and  on  they  rushed,  while  like  a  guiding  star, 
Amid  the  tiiickest  carnage  blazed  the  helmet  of  Navane. 

The  Battle  of  Icry.—'Y.  B.  Macaulay, 

Very  Quick. 

Very  Quick  or  Rapid  Movement  is  seldom  used,  Quick 
Movement  being  generally  rapid  enough.  It  expresses  great 
haste  and  extreme  terror. 


1 


Forili  from  the  pass  in  tumult  driven 
Like  chaff  before  the  wind  of  heaven. 

The  archery  appear! 
For  life!  for  lifel  their  flight  they  ply, 
And  shriek  and  shout  and  battle-cry, 
And  plaids  and  bonnets  waving  high. 
And  broadswords  Hashing  to  the  sky, 

Ai'e  maddening  in  the  rear !    ^  ^ .. 

Marmion. — Walter  Scott. 


/ 


PITCH. 


Pitch,  or  Modulation  {pitch  in  Music)  is  the  degree  of 
elevation  of  the  voice. 

[It  Ls  suggested  that  practice  upon  the  exercises  in  Pitch,  be  limited  to  Low, 
Medium  and  High.] 

Veuy  Low. 

Very  Low  Pitch,  like  Very  Slow  Movement,  is  the  least 
used,  the  same  class  of  emotions — profound  reverence,  awe, 
and  horror — being  expressed  by  both. 


60  Pltcli. 

65. 

I  had  a  dream  that  was  not  all  a  dream. 

The  bright  sim  was  e.\linguished.  and  the  stars 

Did  wander  darkling  in  the  eternal  space 

Rayless  and  patliles.s,  and  the  icy  earth 

Swung  blind  and  blackening  in  the  moonless  air. 

Darkness. — Lord  Byron. 

Low. 

Low  Pitch,  usually  associated  with  Slow  Movement,  is 
appropriate  to  grandeur,  solemnity  and  pathos. 

66. 

They  saw  the  vault  covered  and  the  stone  fixed  down ;  then  when 
the  dusk  of  evening  had  come  on  and  not  a  sound  disturbed  the 
sacred  stillness  of  the  place, — in  that  calm  time  when  all  outward 
things  and  inward  thoughts  teem  with  assurances  of  immortality, 
and  worldly  hopes  and  fears  are  humbled  in  the  dust  before  them, — 
then  Willi  tranquil  and  submissive  hearts  they  turned  away  and  left 
the  child  with  God. 

Old  Curiosity  Sliop. — Charles  Dickens. 

ft 

Medium:. 

Mediurn  or  Middle  Pitcii,  like  Medium  Force  and  Medium 
Movement,  belongs  to  tlie  natural  speaking  voice,  and  is 
therefore  appropriate  for  all  ordinary  reading. 

67. 

History  is  a  voice  sounding  forever  across  the  centuries  the  laws  of 
right  and  wrong.  Opinions  alter,  manners  change,  creeds  rise  and 
fall,  but  the  moral  law  is  written  on  llie  tablets  of  eternity.  Justice 
and  truth  alone  endure  and  live.  Injustice  and  falsehood  may  be 
long-lived,  but  doomsday  comes  at  last  to  them  in  French  revolutions 
and  other  terrible  ways. 

,  1  he  Science  of  Uidor;/. — J.  A.  Froude. 


Iiijlectlons.  51 


High. 

High  Pitch,  usually  accompanying  Loud  Force  and  Quick 
Movement,  is  expressive  of  excitement,  gayety  and  joy. 

68. 

Break  happy  laud,  into  earlier  flowers! 

Make  music,  O  bird,  in  the  new-budded  bowers! 

Warble,  O  bugle,  and  trumpet  blare  1 

Flames,  on  the  windy  headland  flare! 

Clash,  ye  bells,  in  the  merry  Marcli  air! 

O  joy  to  the  people,  and  joy  to  the  throne, 

Come  to  us,  love  us,  and  make  us  your  own. 

A  Wtlcome  to  Alexandra. — Alfred  Tennyson. 

Very  High. 

Very  High  Pitch,  generally  associated  with  Very  Loud 
Force  and  Very  Quick  Movement,  belongs  principally  to  the 
shouting  or  calling  voice,  but  is  sometimes  used  to  exjoress 
extreme  animation  or  joy. 

69. 

Rejoice,  j''ou  men  of  Angiers!  ring  your  bells; 

King  John,  your  king  and  England's  doth  approach; 

Open  your  gates  and  give  the  victors  way! 

King  John. — Shaivespeare. 

INFLECTIONS.    '-'' 

Inflections  or  Slides  are  the  upward  and  downward  turns 
or  bends  of  the  voice.  Expression  in  speaking  or  reading 
depends  chiefly  upon  the  proper  application  of  Slides.  The 
lack  of  inflection  produces  the  monotony  so  common  in  the 
schoolroom  and  so  disagreeable  wherever  heard.  "This 
can  be  tolerated  only  in  a  law  paper,  a  state  document, 
bill  of  lading,  or  an  invoice,  in   the  reading  of  which  the 


o2  Inflections. 


mere  distinct  enunciation  of  tlie  words  is  deemed  sufficient. 
In  otlier  circumstances  it  kills  ■with  inevitable  certainty 
everything  like  feeling  or  expression." — Russell. 

The  main  difference  between  song  and  speech  is  that  in 
the  former  the  voice  rises  and  falls  from  note  to  note  by  a 
succession  of  steps.  No  matter  how  long  a  note  may  be 
held,  the  pitch  does  not  vary.  In  speech  the  voice  rises  and 
falls  in  slides,  causing  a  constant  variation  in  pitch. 

As  the  Emphasis  increases,  the  length  of  the  Slide  (either 
upward  or  downward)  increases.  An  illustration  of  this 
fact  is  found  in  the  gradually  lengthened  inflections  of  an 
earnest  orangry  voice  as  the  earnestness  or  anger  increases. 
Children's  voices,  from  their  naturalness  and  spontaneity, 
afford  perfect  examples  of  all  forms  of  inflection. 

Observation  of  the  slides  into  which  all  voices  naturally 
fall  in  the  expression  of  various  emotions  (as  heard  in  or- 
dinary conversation)  is  of  great  value  in  the  study  of  this 
subject.  Unnatural  as  some  slides  sound — particularly  the 
circumflex — ►when  applied  mechanically  to  detached  exam- 
ples, there  is  not  one  of  them  which  is  not  heard  in  every- 
day speech. 

The  length  of  Slides  in  the  speaking  voice,  corresponds  to 
the  length  of  the  intervals  in  the  musical  scale.  The  scale 
of  C  is  selected  for  illustration,  though  the  principle  illus- 
trated applies  equally  to  all  scales. 

Monotone. 

The  Monotone  {one  tone)  is  a  tone  kept  without  rising  or 
falling  upon  one  degree  of  pitch,  or  one  note.  It  corre- 
sponds to  the  chanting  tone  in  vocal  music.  It  is  naturally 
associated  with  Low  Pitch,  Slow  Time,  often  with  Orotund 
Quality  and  expresses  re]iose,  power,  vastness,  awe,  rever- 
ence and  solemn  it  V. 


Infections.  5'3 


Monotoiie  is  not  synonymous  with  Monotony.  Tlie  latter 
refei's  to  any  kind  of  repetition,  any  succession  of  similar 
sounds  which  gives  sameness  to  the  tone.  ''Monotone  is 
the  sublimest  poetical  effect  of  elocution;  monotony  one  of 
the  worst  defects." 

70.  ^ . 

It  is  an  awful  hour  when  this  life  has  lost  its  meaning  and  seem| 
shrivelled  into  a  sjjan;  when  the  grave  appears  to  be  the  end  of  all 
juman  goodness  but  a  name,  and  the  sky  above  this  universe  merely 

dead  expanse.  I  know  but  one  way  in  which  a  man  may  comd 
forth  from  such  agony;  it  is  by  holding  fast  to  those  things  which 
ire  certain  still — the  grand,  simple  landmarks  of  morality.  Tiirice 
jlessed  is  he  who,  when  all  is  drear  and  clieerless  witliin  and  wilhj 
iut,  has  obstinately  clung  to  moral  good.  I 

Sermon. — Rev.  F.  Yv.  Robertson. 


71. 

No  stir  in  the  air,  no  stir  in  the  sea; 

The  ship  was  still  as  she  could  be. 

Her  sails  from  heaven  received  no  motion. 

Her  keel  was  steady  in  tlic  ocean. 

Without  either  sign  or  sound  of  tlieir  shock, 

Tlie  waves  flowed  over  tiie  Inchcape  Rock; 

So  little  they  rose,  so  little  they  fell, 

They  did  not  move  the  Inchcape  Bell. 

The  Inclicape  Rock. — Robert  Southey. 


Semitone. 

The  Semitone  ijialf-dep  in  Music)  the  Semitonic,  Minor, 
or  Chromatic  Slide,  corresponds  to  the  interval  between 
one  note  and  the  next  half-note  above  or  below;  the  interval 
between  C  and  C  sharp,  or  between  Do  and  Di.     It  is  heard 


54  Inflections. 


in  the  peevish  whine  or  cry  of  the  child,  the  voice  of  the  ex- 
hausted invalid,  and  the  tones  of  the  grumbling  fault-finder. 
It  is  also  the  natural  expression  of  grief,  pity,  supplication 
and  all  plaintive  emotions.  Witiiout  this  form  of  inflection 
pathetic  effect  is  entirely  lost,  but  it  is  often  improperly 
placed  upon  solemn  or  impressive  utterances,  giving  a 
whining,  depressing  and  most  dismal  effect  to  what  on  the 
contrary  should  be  as  exalted  and  inspiring  in  tone  as  in 
sentiment. 

72. 

Oh,  what  a  burial  was  here!  Not  as  wlien  one  is  borne  from  his 
home  among  weeping  throngs,  gently  carried  to  tiie  green  fields,  and 
laid  peacefully  beneath  tlie  turf  and  flowers.  No  priest  stood  to 
pronounce  a  burial-service.  It  was  an  ocean-grave.  The  mists  alone 
shrouded  the  burial  place.  Down,  down  they  sank,  and  the  quick 
returning  waters,  smoothing  out  every  ripple,  left  the  sea  as  if  it  had 
not  been. 

The  Loss  of  the  Arctic— Hev.  Henry  Ward  Beecher. 

73. 


Knd  yet  he  moaned  beneath  his  breatt 
"  pii,  come  in  life,  or  come  in  death, 
filost!  my  love,  Elizabeth !" 

The  Brides  of  Enderhy.  —Jean  Ingelow. 

74. 

Peace  in  the  clover-scented  air, 

And  stars  within  the  dome; 
And  underneatii.  in  dim  repose, 

A  jilain.  New  England  liome. 
Within,  a  widow  in  her  \veeds 

From  wliom  all  joy  is  flown; 
Who  kneels  among  her  sleeping  babes, 

And  weeps  and  prays  alone. 

The  Heart  of  thr  War.— 5.  G.  Holland. 


Inflections.  55 


Whole  Tone. 

The  Slide  of  the  Whole  Tone,  the  Common  or  Conver- 
sational Slide,  is  the  distance  between  C  and  D,  or  Do  and 
Ee.  It  characterizes  the  ordinary  speaking  voice  and  is 
therefore  the  most  frequently  used. 

75. 

Gibbon  was  in  his  study  every  morning,  winter  and  summer,  at 
six  o'clock;  Leibnitz  was  never  out  of  his  library;  Pascal  killed  him- 
self by  study;  Cicero  narrowl\^  escaped  death  from  the  same  cause; 
Milton  was  at  his  books  with  as  much  regularity  as  a  merchant  or  an 
attorney.  Raphael  lived  but  thirty-seven  years,  and  in  that  short 
space  carried  the  art  of  painting  so  far  beyond  what  it  had  before 
reached,  that  he  appears  to  stand  alone  as  a  model  to  his  successors. 
Generally  speaking,  the  life  of  all  truly  great  men  has  been  a  life  of 

intense  labor. 

Labor  and  Genius. — Sydney  Smith. 

76. 

The  heifer  that  lows  in  the  upland  farm 

Far  heard,  lows  not  thine  ear  to  cliarm. 

The  sexton,  tolling  his  bell  at  noon, 

Deems  not  that  great  Napoleon 

Stops  his  horse,  and  lists  with  delight, 

While  his  files  sweep  round  you  Alpine  height. 

Nor  knowest  thou  what  argument 

Thy  life  to  thy  neighbor's  creed  has  lent. 

All  are  needed  by  each  one — 

Nothing  is  fair  or  good  alone. 

Each  and  AII—'Raxfti  Waldo  Emerson. 

Slide  of  a  Third. 

The  Slide  of  a  Third  corresponds  to  the  interval  between 
C  and  E,  or  Do  and  Mi.  It  is  used  upon  words  requiring 
more  emphasis  than  is  needed  in  the  ordinary  speaking 
voice. 


56  Inflections. 


77. 

I  tell  j'ou  that  this  is  to  mc  quite  the  most  aniazin.!:  among  the 
])heiiomcna  of  humanity.  I.  am  surprised  at  no  deplli^  to  whidi, 
wheu  once  wai-ped  of  its  honor,  humanity  can  be  degraded.  But 
this  is  wonderful  to  me,— oh,  how  wonderful!— to  see  woman  with  a 
])ower.  if  she  would  wield  it,  purer  than  the  air  of  heaven,  and 
slronger  than  the  seas  of  earth,  abdicate  ihis  majesl\\  to  play  at  pre- 
cedence with  her  next-door  neighbor. 

Queen's  Gardens. — John  Rusurs. 

78. 
My  liege,  your  anger  can  recall  your  trust, 
Anmd  my  office,  spoil  me  of  my  lan<is, 
Ritle  my  coiTers;  but  my  name,  my  deeds, 
Are  royal  in  a  land  beyond  your  .sceptre. 

I  found  France  rent  asunder: 
The  rich  men  ilespots.  and  tlie  poor,  banditti; 
Sloth  in  the  mart,  and  schism  within  the  temple. 
I  have  re  created  France;  antl  from  the  ashes 
Of  the  old  feudal  and  decrepit  carcass, 
Civilization  on  her  luminous  wings 
Soars  Phoenix  like  lo  .Jove! 

Richelieu. — Edward  Lytton  Bui-WER. 

Slide  of  a  Fifth. 
The  Slide  of  a  Fifth  coi-respoiuls  to  the  interval  between 
C  and  G,  or  Do  and  Sol. 

79. 

Yet  this  is  Rome 
That  sat  on  her  seven  hills  and  from  iior  throne 
Of  beauty  ruled  the  world!     Yet  we  arc  Romans! 
Why  in  tiiat  elder  day,  to  bo  a  Roman 
Was  greater  than  a  king!     And  once  again — 
Hear  me,  ye  walls,  thai  echoed  to  the  tread 
Of  either  Brntu.s!— once  again  I  swear, 
The  Eternal  City  shall  be  free! 
Ricnzi'i  Addn'ss  to  (he  Romans.— yi.^v.\  RfSSKLL  ^MiTKOHD. 


Injlectlons.  67 


Slide  of  ax  Octave. 

Tiie  slide  of  an  Octave  corresponds  to  the  interval  between 
C  and  C,  or  Do  and  Do. 

80. 

"  Sir,  you  have  much  to  confess,"  rofired  the  General,  "  and  I  will 
wring  it  out  of  you!  If  you  refuse,  I'll  shut  you  up  in  a  dungeon  for 
ten  years!  You  are  associated  with  conspirators;  von  countenanced 
I'evolution  in  Florence;  you  openly  took  part  with  Republicans. 
Sir,  you  are  in  a  position  of  imniinent  danger.     I  tell  you — beware!" 

The  General  said  this  in  an  awful  voice  which  was  meant  to  strike 
terror  into  the  soul  of  his  captive. 

The  Dodge  Club. — Prof.  James  DeMille. 

Circumflex. 

The  preceding  Inflections  are  called  Simple,  Single,  and 
Direct  Slides. 

The  Circumflex  {circum,  around;  Jlcciere,  to  bend)  or 
Wave,  Complex,  Double,  and  Indirect  Slide,  is  a  wave  or 
turn  of  the  voice,  including  both  a  rise  and  a  fall  on  the  same 
syllable;  named  Rising  or  Falling  according  to  the  termina- 
tion of  the  Slide. 

Simple  facts  and  questions  are  stated  or  asked  in  simple 
or  direct  slides.  If  the  fact  or  question  is  modified  or  com- 
plex in  any  way,  the  voice  indicates  it  by  the  Circumflex. 
No  inflection  is  so  expressive,  the  slide  itself  generally  int- 
])lying  as  much  as  the  words  upon  which  it  is  placed.  It  is 
the  characteristic  utterance  of  doubt,  contrast,  comparison, 
insinuation,  raillery  and  sarcasm. 

[The  Circumflex  is  measured  in  the  same  ^vay  as  rlie  Direct  Slides,  tliough 
when  its  length  exceeds  that  of  tlie  Wliole  Tone,  it  generally  extends  through 
several  words  of  the  sentence.] 

81. 

"If  to  d5  were  :is  easy  as  to  kn6w  what  were  g6od  to  do.  chSpels 
had  been  chClrches,  and  poor  men's  cottSges  princes"  palaces.     It  is  a 


58  Injiections. 


good  divine  that  follows  his  own  instructions.  I  can  easier  te3ch 
twenty  what  were  good  to  be  done  than  to  be  one  of  the  twenty  to 
fSUow  mine  own  leaching." 

Merchant  of  Venice. — Shakespeare. 

82. 

None  dared  withf;tand  him  to  his  face. 
But  one  sl\^  maiden  spake  aside: 

"The  little  witch  is  evil-eyed! 
Her  mother  only  killed  a  cow 
Or  witched  a  churn  or  dairy -pan, 

But  she,  forsooth,  must  charm  a  man !" 

Tlie  Witch's  Daughter. — John  G.  Whittier. 

83. 

*'  You  sSy  you  are  a  better  soldier. 
Let  it  appear  so.     Make  5'our  vaunting  triie, 
And  it  shall  please  me  well.     Fo.-  mine  own 
Part,  I  shall  be  glad  to  learn  of  noble  men." 

Julius  CcBsar. — Shakespeare. 

84. 

"  There's  no  kn5wing,"  said  Dolly,  "  whitt  you  may  have  learned 
among  those  children  at  the  asjdum!" 

"May  I  go  to  the  evening  school?"  asked  Rose.  "It  is  a  frSe 
school." 

"  Well,  you're  not  free  to  gS,  if  it  Is.  You  know  how  to  reSd  and 
write,  and  I  have  taught  you  how  to  make  clutnge  pretty  well — that's 
all  you  need  for  my  purposes.  You're  too  grand  to  trim  cSps  and 
bonnets  like  your  Aunt  D511y,  I  suppose.  It's  quite  beneath  a  clulrity 
orphan,  of  coilrse !" 

Eose  Clark. — Fanny  Fern. 

85. 

They  owned  it  couldn't  have  well  been  worse. 
To  go  from  a  full  to  an  empty  purse, 
To  expect  a  reversion  and  get  a  rev6rse 
Was  Irulv  a  dismal  feature. 


Inflections.  59 


But  it  wasn't  strange — they  whispered — at  all. 
That  the  summer  of  pi'ide  should  have  its  fall 

Was  quite  according  to  Nature. 
She  wasn't  rilined, — they  ventured  to  hope — 
Because  she  was  poor  she  needn't  mope. 
FSw  people  were  beller  off  for  soap. 

Ami  that  was  a  consolation. 

The  Proud  Miss  MacBride. — John  G.  Saxe. 
88. 

["As  the  Emphasis  increases,  the  length  of  the  Slide  increases."] 

Increasing  Slides. 

"  In  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks,"  said  my  uncle  Toby,  smiling,  "he 
might  march."  "  He  will  never  march,  an'  please  your  honor,  in  this 
world,"  said  the  corporal.  "  He  will  march,"  said  my  uncle  Toby, 
rising  up  with  one  shoe  off.  "  An'  please  your  honor,"  said  the  cor- 
poral, "he  will  never  march  but  to  hio  grave."  "He  shall  march," 
cried  my  uncle  Toby,  "  he  shall  march  to  his  regiment."  "  He  can 
not  stand  it,"  said  the  corporal.  "  He  shall  be  supported,"  said  my 
uncle  Toby.  "  Ah-wella-day,  do  what  we  can  for  him,"  said  Trim, 
maintaining  his  point,  "the  poor  soul  will  die."  "He  shall  not," 
shouted  my  uncle  Toby,  with  an  oath.  The  Accusing  Spirit  which 
flew  up  to  heaven's  chancery,  blushed  as  he  gave  it  in,  and  the 
Recording  Angel,  as  he  wrote  it  down,  dropped  a  tear  upon  the  word 
and  blotted  it  out  forever. 

The  Story  of  La  Fevre. — Laurence  Sterne. 

[The  Slides  of  the  Fifth  and  Octave,  being  the  most  emphatic,  are  consequently 
the  least  used,  and  their  use  is  always  a  matter  of  taste  and  judgment.  Where 
one  reader  would  give  extreme  emphasis  to  a  passage  another  would  render  it  as 
correctly,  and  quite  as  acceptably,  with  less.  The  Slides  of  the  Whole  Tone,  the 
Third  and  Circumflex  being  the  only  ones  used  in  ordinary  speech  and  reading 
are  consequently  the  most  practical.  But  drill  upon  all  the  Slides— with  single 
sounds  and  words— is  specially  recommended,  as  developing  flexibility  of  tone.] 


9 


? 


SELECTIO:S^a 

THE   BREATH   OF   LIFE, 

We  are  told  that  ''God  made  man  upright,  but  he  has 
found  out  many  inventions."'  Though  evidently  intended 
in  a  moral  sense,  it  is  no  less  true  in  a  physical  one,  and  its 
truth  is  especially  significant  to  tiie  student  of  anatomy  and 
physiology.  For  one  '•  ui)right''  man  or  woman,  are  to  be 
found  scores  of  round  shoulders,  protruding  shoulder-blades, 
sunken  chests,  distorted  ribs,  bow  legs,  crooked  spines, 
cramped  toes  and  lingers.  Man  has  found  out  many  in- 
ventions of  sitting,  walking,  dressing,  working,  sleeping,  in 
the  most  unnatural  positions  of  body,  and  owing  to  his 
strange  and  unaccountable  tendency  to  the  wrong  when  the 
right  would  better  serve  his  purpose,  these  are  persisted  in 
even  when  proved  f  ital  to  comfort  and  health.  Down 
through  generations  are  lianded  the  bodily  deformities 
which  hamper  and  disfigure  the  race,  but  all  speculation  as 
to  the  cause  of  so  much  weakness,  helplessness  and  ugliness 
becomes  needless  when  we  reflect  that  these  were  not  parts 
of  the  original  plan,  for  "  (Jod  made  man  upright,"  although 
he  has  since  "found  out  miiny  inventions."  We  are  also 
told  chat  "when  God  made  man  lie  breathed  into  his 
nostrils  the  breath  of  lif(J."  Alas,  that  the  inventive  faculty 
should  tami)er  with  this  also,  and  that  the  very  breath  of 
life  should  become  life-destrovinof. 

It  is  fair  to  assume  that  all  men  and  women  of  averajre 
intelligence  are  acquainted  with    the  fact  that  the  act  of 


Selections  for  Reading.  61 

breathing  is  the  process  by  which  air  is  taken  into  the  lungs 
and  ex))elled  from  theni,  siiijplying  the  system  with  oxygen, 
which  is  necessary  for  the  warmth  of  the  body  and  the 
purification  of  the  blood.  They  know  also  that  the  lungs 
are  conical  organs,  one  oji  each  side  of  the  chest,  aiid  com- 
posed of  air  cells  which/4re  expanded  when  the  cl^st  is  en- 
larged, contracted  wh^n  it  is  diitiinished.  Perhaps  their 
knowledge  of  respiration  also  includes  the  ftyct  that  the 
muscles  of  the  back  g?nd  ribs  are  in  some  way>rmi)loycd  in 
the  act  of  breathing/  that  a  hearty  meal  inte^eres  with  the 
process;  that  it  is  easier  to  talk,  sing,  or  i«:id  aloud  "  on 
an  empty  stomacli'^  than  a  full  one,  and/that  a  sense  of 
relief  is  instantly  Experienced' on  leaving'' a  close  room  for 
the  freedom  of  the  outdoor  air. 

It  would  not  be  safe  to  sfssprt  that  these  i)crsons  "could 
intelligently  explain  the  r/asons  for  tliese  facts.  Still  less 
probable  is  it  that  they  ^ould  account  for  the  pains  and 
"sticches,"  tlio  irritatioa  or  inflammation  of  the  chest,  the 
**sore  spots"  and  "catches"  of  the  breath,  with  which  the 
great  majority  are  only/  too  familiar.  How  tremendous  is 
the  astonishment  of  those  who  are  told  by  phrenologist, 
physician,  or  teacher,  "You  do  not  breathe  properly." 

"Don't  breathe  properly  I  Why,  I  supposed  breathing 
was  a  natural  function  and  took  care  of  itself."  Certainly, 
it  will  take  care  of  itself  if  allowed  to  do  so;  but  interfer- 
ence with  this  natural  function  is  one  of  the  many  inven- 
tions which  men,  and  especially  women,  have  found  out  to 
their  ruin.  ' 

That  consumption  is  one  of  the  great  physical  scourges 
of  the  human  race,  is  now  received  as  an  axiom.  We  have 
grown  familiar  with  the  advertisements  of  druggists  and 
doctors — "Consumption  can  be  cured."  Is  it  not  true, 
that  to  a  great  extent,  "'  Consumption  can  be  prevented?" 


62  Selections  for  Reading. 

We  arc  bound  to  admit  tliat  in  all  diseases  an  ounce  of 
prevention  is  worth  tons  of  cure.  To  one  familiar  with 
diseases  of  the  respiratory  orgms,  this  truth  has  a  more 
than  ordinary  significance,  tlie  approach  of  all  lung  and 
bronchial  troubles  being  slow,  insidious,  deceptive,  easily 
checked  at  the  outset;  but  if  too  long  neglected,  defying 
all  mortal  care  and  skill. 

There  can  be  nothing  new  said  against  corsets  and  tight- 
lacing,  but  something  more  than  this  popular  outcry  is 
needed.  All  this  should  be  said,  but  other  things  should 
not  be  left  unsaid.  Emerson  says  that  "  the  progress  of 
the  intellect  is  to  the  clearer  vision  of  causes,  which  neglects 
surface  differences."  These  surface  differences  will  satisfy 
neither  physiologist  nor  philosopher.  The  medical  and 
mental  eye  looks  farther  and  judges  more  truly.  Many 
women  who  are  Judicious  in  respect  to  dress,  and  many  men 
who  would  as  soon  think  of  wearing  streamers  as  stays,  are 
among  the  first  to  succumb  to  lung  troubles. 

It  is  true  that  nothing  can  be  worse  for  the  lungs  than 
the  pressure  brought  to  bear  ui)on  them  by  tight  clothing. 
Draw  a  strap  around  a  sponge  and  the  air-cells  are  grad- 
uallv  and  completely  compressed.  Just  as  surely  does  a 
pressure  upon  the  chest  and  waist  hamper  the  free  use  of 
the  ribs  and  muscles,  while  the  air-cells  of  the  lungs  strug- 
gle in  vain  for  the  necessary  amount  of  their  proper 
nourishment.  The  lower  and  stronger  parts  of  the  lungs 
being  thus  impeded  in  their  work,  the  act  of  breathing — if 
carried  on  at  all  (and  it  is  amazing  how  few  foolish  people 
realize  the  small  amount  which  the  world  would  lose  if 
they  should  stop  breathing  entirely)— must  be  transferred 
to  the  upper  and  weaker  part.  This  cramping  and  starv- 
ing process  long  continued — this  overtasking  of  the  weaker 
parts  of  the  organs,  results  most. naturally  and  logically  in 


Selections  for  Reading.  63 


irritation  wliich  speedily  grows  into  inflammation,  produc- 
ing soreness  and  pains  in  tlie  chest,  susceptibility  to  colds, 
and  the  innumerable  symptoms  of  disease  and  decay  which 
go  steadily  on  in  their  j^ork  of  destruction  and   certain,  if 
lingering,  death.     Everything,  therefore,  which  in  any  way 
restricts  the  free  use  of  all  the  muscles  of  the  waist  and 
chest,  interferes  with  the  function  of  breathing,  and  throws 
this  duty  upon  the  weakest  part  of  the  lungs,  obliging  them 
finally  to  succumb  to  the  unnatural  and  self-imposed  strain. 
The  woman  who  prides  herself  on  her  good  sense  regard- 
ing corsets,  will  sit  all  day  long  over  the  sewing-machine 
embellishing  with  superfluous  tucks  and  rufHes  the  clothes 
which  require  her  to  stand  all  day  long  over  the  ironing- 
board.       She   spends   hours    over   fascinating   fancy-work 
which  requires  a  confined  position  of  body,  and,  as  change 
from  that  employment,  takes  up  a  novel,  which  allows  an 
easier  attitude  and  rest  for  the  fingers.     Content  to  breathe 
the  dry  furnace  air  of  our  modern  houses,  at  no  time  does 
she  willindv  take  active  exercise  out  of   doors.     Formal 
r-Or    calls,  shopping  expeditions,  evening  entertainments,  full- 
dress  drives  on  a  fashionable  avenue — these  are  the  only 
-^  I       occasions  upon  which  she  encounters  the  i)ure  air,  and  at 
■■  '       these  times  either  the   endless  precautions  of  wraps  and 
mufflers  prevent  it  from  being  of  any  benefit,  or  carelessness 
;  of  exposure  makes  it  a  positive  injury. 
!       The  women  who  have  no  choice  of  duties  or  pleasures, 
j  I  whose  time  is  spent  in  the  hot  air  of  the  kitchen,  the  close 
atmosphere  of  the  shop,  the  mill,  the  dressmaker  and  bon- 
net-maker's rooms — these  are  also  the  women  with  the  little 
cough,  the  slight  i)ain  in  the  chest,  all  the  small  symptoms 
with  which  physicians  are  dreadfully  familiar — the  unmis- 
takable initials  of  sickness  and  death. 

The  men  whose  business  keeps  them  in  cramped  positions 


G4  Selections  for  Reading. 


over  the  cobbler's  last,  the  tailors  bench,  the  dentist's 
chair,  at  the  easel,  the  desk — all  these  must  suffer  likewise, 
unless  the  outdoor  air  and  exercise  is  sufiicient  to  neutral- 
ize the  injury.  Most  men  have  the  desire,  as  well  as  the 
opportunity,  for  this  free,  active  stir  after  the  confinement 
of  the  day.  It  is  no  unusual  thing  for  the  horse-car  to  roll 
l,)v  unnoticed  while  they  walk  home  from  the  office  or  the 
store,  with  the  energetic  stride  and  deep  inspiration  which 
does  more  than  anything  else  to  repair  the  waste  of  the  day. 
Too  true  is  it  that  while  "man  works  till  set  of  ^  sun, 
woman's  work  is  never  done,"  giving  her  little  opportunity, 
even  if  she  had  the  desire,  to  escape  from  her  daily  bondage, 
leaving  physical  toil  and  mental  care  behind  her. 

'*  Oh,  that  is  a  medicine  which  cures  everything,"  we 
hear  said  in  a  contemptuous  tone  and  Avith  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders;  "  I  have  no  faith  in  it  for  that  reason,"  But 
many  diseases  spring  from  one  source,  assuming  in  diiierent 
persons  different  forms,  dependent  upon  peculiarities  of 
constitution  and  temperament.  What  causes  rheumatism 
in  one,  may  in  another  develop  into  pleurisy  or  dj^spepsia, 
bronchitis  or  fever.  The  delicate  woman  lying  on  the 
lounge  with  headache,  and  the  portly  man  braced  in  his 
chair  with  gout,  may  seem  to  need  utterly  different  medi- 
cines and  styles  of  treatment,  but  the  physician  knows  that 
they  differ  only  as  tyi)es  of  the  same  si)ecies.  A  bad  state 
of  the  blood  has  a  hundred  ways  of  manifestation,  and 
chooses  with  seeming  capriciousness  divers  afflictions  for  its 
many  victims.  The  lack  of  proper  nourishment  for  the 
blood  is  one  cause  of  its  impurity,  and  impure  blood  is  one 
of  the  most  common  causes  of  all  disease.  In  no  way  can 
it  be  so  effectually  defrauded  of  its  food  as  by  Avrong  habits 
of  breathing,  which  diminish  its  supply  of  ox'ygon,  impair 
its  circulation,  and  cripple  every  function  of  the  body. 


Selections  for  Reading.  65 

Nature  revenges  herself  for  our  neglect  of  any  physical 
or  mental  power  by  depriving  us  of  its  use.  The  positions 
of  body  which  cramp  or  hinder  the  action  of  the  muscles  of 
the  diaphragm,  will  in  time  weaken  these  muscles,  and  limit 
the  power,  even  if  there  is  inclination,  to  draw  a  full,  deep 
breath.  The  muscles  should  not  be  allowed  to  grow  weak 
from  disuse;  respiration  should  not  be  confined  to  the 
upper  part  of  the  lungs;  the  chest  should  not  be  required 
to  do  the  work  of  the  diaphragm;  the  habit  of  breathing 
fully  and  deeply  should  be  firmly  established.  The  pre- 
vention of  these  things  is  plain,  easy,  recpiiring  but  little 
time,  slight  exertion,  no  medicine,  and  no  money. 

All  that  is  needed  is  an  erect  position  of  the  l)ody,  ex- 
panded chest,  and  deep  inspiration  in  the  pure  air.  The 
elasticity  and  vigor  of  all  the  muscles  can  be  greatly 
increased  by  percussion  by  patting.  Such  exercise  should 
be  of  tenest  taken  by  those  whose  employments  are  sedentary. 
Let  the  public  school-teacher,  who  finds  her  scholars  grow- 
ing noisy  in  proportion  as  she  grows  nervous,  open  all  the 
windows,  and  for  two  minutes  keep  the  children  on  their 
feet,  while  they  exercise  the  chest  by  moderate  percussion, 
and  the  lungs  by  long,  deep,  energetic  breathing.  The  rest 
and  refreshment  will  be  far  out  of  proportion  to  the  time 
and  effort  expended  in  this  simple  way.  Such  exercise  will 
be  beneficial  to  any  one  who  will  take  it,  and  is  the  surest 
cure  for  the  temporary  depression  of  spirits,  slight  head- 
aches, and  fatigue  which  often  follow  too  long  confinement 
indoors,  or  application  to  any  special  work.  Its  simplicity 
makes  many  skeptical  concei'ningits  efficacy,  and  experience, 
like  that  of  the  old  man  who  attributed  his  long  life  and 
health  to  having  "  plenty  of  God's  pure  air  from  an  open 
east  winder,"  is  the  only  thing  which  can  prove  to  un- 
believers the  great  value  of  exei-cise  as  preventive  and  cure. 


66  Selections  for  Heading. 

Mucli  of  the  difficulty  in  reading  uloud  lies  in  '•getting 
out  of  breath."  There  is  no  obstacle  so  common,  yet  none 
so  easily  overcome.  The  lungs  should  be  filled  before  be- 
ginning to  read,  and  refilled  at  every  convenient  pause — 
always  before  they  are  exhausted.  With  a  little  practice 
every  one — even  those  with  weak  vocal  organs  and  small 
breathing  capacity — can  acquire  the  '•  knack"'  of  keeping 
the  lungs  sufficiently  filled,  and  doing  it  so  quickly  and 
quietly  as  to  avoid  drawing  attention  to  the  process.  No 
good  singer,  actor,  or  reader  is  ever  out  of  breath,  even  when 
appearing  to  be  so  for  the  purpose  of  producing  a  certain 
effect. — Phrenological  Journal.  . 


A -LIBERAL  EDUCATION. 
Thomas  Henby  Huxley. 

Suppose  it  were  perfectly  certain  that  the  life  and  for- 
tune of  every  one  of  us  would,  one  day  or  other,  depend 
npon  his  winning  or  losing  a  game  of  chess.  Don't  you 
think  that  we  should  all  consider  it  to  be  a  primary  duty 
to  learn  at  least  the  names  and  the  moves  of  the  pieces;  to 
have  a  notion  of  a  gambit,  and  a  keen  eye  for  all  the  means 
of  giving  and  getting  out  of  check?  Do  vou  not  think  that 
we  should  look  with  a  disapprobation  amounting  lo  scorn 
upon  the  father  who  allowed  his  son,  or  the  state  which 
allowed  its  members,  to  grow  up  Avithout  knowing  a  pawn 
from  a  knight? 

Yet  it  is  a  very  plain  and  elementary  truth  that  the  life,  the 
fortune,  the  happiness  of  every  one  of  us  and,  more  or  less, 
of  those  who  are  connected  with  us,  do  dei)end  npon  our 
knowing  something  of  the  rules  of  a  game  infinitely  more 
difficult  and  complicated  than  chess.     It  is  a  game  which 


Selections  for  Reading.  67 

has  been  played  for  untold  ages,  every  man  and  woman  of 
us  being  one  of  the  two  players  in  a  game  of  his  or  her  own. 
The  chess-board  is  the  world;  the  pieces  are  the  phenomena 
of  the  universe;  the  rules  of  the  game  are  Avhat  Ave  call  the 
laws  of  Nature.  The  player  on  the  other  side  is  hidden 
from  us.  We  know  that  his  play  is  always  fair,  just,  and 
patient.  But  also  we  know,  to  our  cost,  that  he  never 
overlooks  a  mistake,  or  makes  the  smallest  allowance  for 
ignorance.  To  the  man  who  plays  Avell,  the  highest  stakes 
are  paid,  with  that  sort  of  overflowing  generosity  with 
which  the  strong  shows  delight  in  strength.  And  one 
who  Inlays  ill  is  checkmated,  without  haste,  but  Avithout  re- 
morse. 

What  I  mean  by  Education  is  learning  the  rules  of  this 
mighty  game.  In  other  words,  education  is  the  instruction 
of  the  intellect  in  the  laws  of  Nature,  under  Avhich  name  I 
include  not  merely  things  and  their  forces,  but  men  and  their 
Avays;  and  the  fashioning  of  the  affections  and  of  the  Avill  into 
an  earnest  and  loving  desire  to  move  in  harmony  with  those 
laws.'  .<  For  me,  education  means  neither  more  nor  less  than 
this.  Anything  which  professes  to  call  itself  education 
must  be  tried  by  this  standard,  and  if  it  fails  to  stand  the 
test,  I  Avill  not  call  it  education,  Avhatever  may  be  the  force 
of  authority  or  of  numbers  upon  the  other  side. 

It  is  important  to  remember  that,  in  strictness,  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  an  uneducated  man.  Take  an  extreme 
case.  Suppose  that  an  adult  man,  in  the  fulk  vigor  of  his 
faculties,  could  be  suddenly  placed  in  the  Avorld  as  Adam  is 
said  to  have  been,  and  then  left  to  do  as  lie  best  might. 
How  long  would  he  be  left  uneducated?  Not  five  minutes. 
Nature  would  begin  to  teach  him,  through  the  eye,  the  ear, 
the  touch,  the  properties  of  objects.  Pain  and  pleasure 
would  be  at  his  elbow,  telling  him  to  do   this  and  nA^oid 


68  Selections  for  Reading. 

that;  and  by  slow  degrees  the  man  would  receive  an  edu- 
cation, which,  if  narrow,  would  be  thorough,  real,  and 
adequate  to  his  circumstances,  though  there  would  be  no 
extras  and  very  few  accomplishments. 

Thus  the  question  of  compulsory  education  is  settled  so 
far  as  Nature  is  concerned.  Her  bill  on  that  question  was 
framed  and  passed  long  ago.  But  ignorance  is  visited  as 
sharply  as  willful  disobedience;  incapacity  meets  with  the 
same  punishment  as  crime.  Nature's  discipline  is  not  even 
a  word  and  a  blow,  and  the  blo\v|  first;  but  the  blow  without 
the  word.  It  is  left  to  you  to  find  out  why  your  ears  arc 
boxed. 

That  man,  I  think,  has  had  a  liberal  education,  who  has 
been  so  trained  in  youth  that  his  body  is  the  ready  servant 
of  his  will,  and  does  with  ease  and  pleasure  all  the  work 
that,  as  a  mechanism,  it  is  capable  of;  whose  intellect  is  a 
clear,  cold,  logic  engine,  with  all  its  parts  of  equal  strength 
and  in  smooth  working  order;  ready  like  a  steam-engine  to 
be  turned  to  any  kind  of  work,  and  spin  the  gossamers  as 
well  as  forge  tiie  anchors  of  the  mind;  whose  brain  is 
stored  with  a  knowledge  of  the  great  and  fundamental 
truths  of  Nature  and  of  the  laws  of  her  ojierations;  one, 
who,  no  stunted  ascetic,  is  full  of  life  and  tire,  but  wliose 
passions  are  trained  to  come  to  heel  by  a  vigorous  will,  the 
servant  of  a  tender  conscience;  who  has  learned  to  love  all 
beauty,  whether  of  nature  or  of  art,  to  hate  all  vileness,  and 
to  respect  others  as  himself. 

Such  an  one  and  no  other,  I  conceive,  has  had  a  liberal 
education:  for  he  is,  as  completely  as  a  man  can  be,  in 
harmony  with  Nature.  He  will  make  the  best  of  her  and 
she  of  him.  Tliey  will  get  on  together  rarely;  she  as  his 
ever  beneficent  mother;  he  as  her  mouthpiece,  her  con- 
scious self,  lier  minister  and  interpreter. — Lay  Sermons. 


Selections  for  Heading. 


69 


ODE   0^  THE   POETS. 


'^ 


John  Keats. 

Bards  of  Passiou  and  of  INIirth, 

Ye  have  left  your  souls  on  eurlii! 

Have  ye  souls  iu  heaven  loo, 

Double-lived  iu  regions  new? 

Yes,  and  those  of  heaven  commune 

With  the  spheres  of  sun  and  moon; 

With  the  noise  of  fountains  Avonderous 

And  the  parle  of  voices  thunderous; 

With  the  whispei*'6f  heaven's  trees 

And  one  another  iaWft  ease, 

Seated  on  Elysianja^s 

Browsed  by  none  but  Dian's  fawns 

Underneath  large  bluebells  tentet 

Where  the  daisies  are  rose-see  tiled, 

And  the  rose  herself  has 

Perfume  which  on 

Where  the  nighliu 

Not  a  senseless,  tr; 

But  divine,  melodious 

Philosophic  numbers  snl-Q^th ; 

Tales  and  golden  histories  ' 

Of  heaven  and  its  mysteries. 

Thus  ye  live  on  high,  and  then 
On  the  earth  ye  live  again; 
And  the  souls  ye  left  behind  j'ou 
Teach  us  here  the  way  to  find  j^ou, 
Where  your  other  souls  are  joying. 
Never  slumbered,  never  cloying: 
Here,  your  earth-born  souls  still  speak 
To  mortals,  of  their  little  week; 
Of  their  sorrows  and  delights; 
Of  their  passions  and  their  spites; 
Of  their  glory  and  tlieir  shame; 


70  Selections. for  Readinr/. 

Wliat  (lolli  slrcngthen  and  what  luuiui. 
Thus  ye  teach  us  every  d;iy 
"Wisdom,  though  tied  lur  awa}'. 

Bards  of  Passion  and  of  !Mirth, 
Ye  have  left  your  souls  on  earth  I 
Ye  have  souls  in  heaven  too. 
Double-lived  iu  reiiious  newl 


OUR  HONORED   DEAD. 
Edward  Everett. 

It  has  been  the  custom  from  the  remotest  antiquity  to 
preserve  and  hand  down  to  posterity,  in  bronze  and  iu 
marble,  the  counterfeit  presentment  of  ilhistrious  men. 
Within  the  hist  few  years  modern  research  lias  brought  to 
light  on  the  banks  of  the  Tigris,  huge  slabs  of  alabaster, 
buried  for  ages,  which  exhibit  in  relief  the  faces  and  the 
])ersons  of  men  who  governed  the  primeval  East  in  the  gray 
dawn  of  history.  Three  thousand  years  have  elapsed  since 
they  lived  and  reigned  and  built  palaces  and  fortified  cities 
and  waged  war  and  gained  victories  of  which  the  trophies 
are  carved  upon  these  monumental  tablets. — the  triumphal 
procession,  the  chariots  laden  with  spoil,  the  drooping  cap- 
tive, the  conquered  monarch  in  chains, — but  the  legends 
inscribed  upon  the  stone  are  imperfectly  deciphered,  and 
little  l^eyond  the  names  of  the  personages,  and  the  most 
general  tradition  of  tiieir  exploits  is  preserved. 

In  like  manner  the  obelisks  and  temples  of  ancient 
Egypt  are  covered  with  the  sculptured  images  of  whole  dy- 
nasties of  Pharaohs, — older  than  Moses,  older  than  Joseph, 


Selections  for  Reading.  71 


whose  titles  are  recorded  in  the  hieroglyphics  with  which 
the  granite  is  charged,  and  which  are  gradually  yielding  up 
their  long  concealed  mysteries  to  the  sagacity  of  modern 
criticism.  The  plastic  arts,  as  they  passed  into  Hellas, 
with  all  the  other  arts  which. give  grace  and  dignity  to  our 
nature,  reached  a  perfection  unknow^n  to  Egypt  or  Assyria; 
afld  the  heroes  of  Greece  and  Rome,  immortalized  by  the 
sculptor,  still  people  the  galleries  and  museums  of  the 
modern  world. 

In  every  succeeding  age  and  in  every  country  in  which 
the  fine  arts  have  been  cultivated,  the  respect  and  affection 
of  survivors  have  found  a  pure  and  rational  gratification  in 
the  historical  portrait  and  the  monumental  statue  of  the 
honored  and  loved  in  private  life,  and  especially  of  the 
great  and  good  who  have  deserved  well  of  their  country. 

The  skill  of  the  painter  and  sculptor,  which  thus  comes 
in  aid  of  the  memory  and  imagination,  is  in  its  highest 
degree  one  of  the  rarest,  as  it  is  one  of  tlie  most  exquisite 
accomplishments  within  our  attainment,  and  in  its  perfec- 
tion as  seldom  witnessed  as  the  perfection  of  speech  or 
music.  The  plastic  hand  must  be  moved  by  the  same 
ethereal  instinct  as  the  eloquent  lips  or  the  recording  pen. 
The  number  of  those  who,  in  the  language  of  Michael 
Angelo,  can  discern  the  finished  statue  in  the  shapeless 
block  and  bidit  start  into  artistic  life — who  are  endowed 
with  the  exquisite  gift  of  molding  the  rigid  bronze  or  the 
lifeless  marble  into  graceful,  majestic  and  expressive  forms 
— is  not  greater  than  the  number  of  those  who  are  able  to 
make  the  spiritual  essence,  the  finest  shades  of  thought 
and  feeling,  sensible  to  the  mind,  through  the  eye  and  ear, 
in  the  mysterious  embodiment  of  the  written  and  the 
spoken  word.  If  Athens,  in  her  ])almiest  days,  had  but  one 
Pericles,  she  had  uLso  but  one  Phidias. 


73  Selections  for  Ileading. 

The  portraits  and  statues  of  the  honored  dead  kindle 
the  generous  ambition  of  the  youthful  aspirant  to  fame. 
Theniistocles  could  not  sleep  for  the  trophies  in  the  Ceram- 
icns;  and  when  the  living  Demosthenes  had  ceased  to 
speak,  the  stony  lips  remained  to  rebuke  and  exhort  his 
degenerate  countrymen.  More  than  a  hundred  years  liaA'e 
elai)sed  since  tlie  great  Newton  passed  away;  but  from  age 
to  age  his  statue  by  Roubillac,  in  the  ante-chapel  of  Trinity 
College  will  give  distinctness  to  the  conceptions  formed  of 
liira  by  hundreds  and  thousands  of  ardent  youthful  spirits, 
filled  with  reverence  for  that  transcendent  intellect,  which, 
from  the  phenomena  that  fall  within  our  limited  vision, 
deduced  the  imperial  law  by  which  the  Sovereign  Mind 
rules  the  entire  universe.  We  can  never  look  on  the  per- 
son of  Washington;  but  his  serene  and  noble  countenance, 
perpetuated  by  the  pencil  and  the  chisel,  is  familiar  to  far 
greater  multitudes  than  ever  stood  in  his  living  presence, 
and  Avill  be  thus  familiar  to  the  latest  generation. 

What  parent,  as  he  conducts  his  son  to  Mount  Auburn  or 
to  Bunker  Hill,  will  not,  as  he  passes  before  their  monu- 
mental statues,  seek  to  heighten  his  reverence  for  virtue, 
for  patriotism,  for  science,  for  learning,  for  devotion  to  the 
public  good,  as  ho  bids  him  contemplate  the  form  of  that 
grave  and  venerable  Winthrop,  who  left  his  pleasant  home 
in  England  to  come  and  found  a  new  republic  in  this  un- 
trodden wilderness;  of  that  ardent  and  intrepid  Otis,  who 
first  struck  out  the  spark  of  American  independence;  of 
that  noble  Adams,  its  most  eloquent  champion  on  the  floor 
of  Congress;  of  that  martyr,  Warren,  who  laid  down  his 
life  in  its  defense;  of  that  self-taught  Bowditch,  who,  with- 
out a  guide,  threaded  the  starry  mazes  of  the  heavens;  of 
that  8t')rv,  honored  at  home  and  abroad  as  one  of  the 
brightest  luminaries  of  the  law,  and,  by  a  felicity  of  which 


Selections  for  Reading.  73 

I  believe  there  is  no  othei'  exumple,  admirably  portrayed  in 
marble  by  his  son? 

Your  long  rows  of  quarried  granite  may  crumble  to  the 
dust;  the  corn-fields  in  yonder  villages  ripening  to  the 
sickle  may,  like  the  plains  of  stricken  Lombardy,  be  kneaded 
into  bloody  clods  by  the  madding  wheels  of  artillery;  this 
populous  city,  like  the  old  cities  of  Etruria  and  Campagna 
Romagna,  may  be  desolated  by  the  pestilence  which  walketh 
in  darkness,  may  decay  with  the  lapse  of  time,  and  the 
busy  mart,  which  now  rings  with  the  din  of  trade,  become 
as  lonely  and  still  as  Carthage  or  Tyi-e,  as  Babylon  or 
Nineveh;  but  the  names  of  the  great  and  good  shall  survive 
the  desolation  and  the  ruin;  the  memory  of  the  wise,  the 
brave,  the  patriotic  shall  never  perish. 

Yes,  Sparta  is  a  wheat-field;  a  Bavarian  prince  holds 
court  at  the  foot  of  the  Acropolis;  the  traveling  virtuoso 
digs  for  marble  in  the  Roman  Forum,  and  beneath  the 
ruins  of  the  temple  of  Jupiter  Cai)itolinus;  but  Lycurgus 
and  Leonidas,  and  Miltiades  and  Demosthenes,  and  Cato 
and  Tally  still  live.  All  the  great  and  good  shall  live  in  the 
heart  of  the  ages  while  marble  and  bronze  shall  endure; 
and  when  marble  and  bronze  have  ])erislied,  they  shall  still 
live  in  memory,  so  long  as  men  shall  reverence  law,  honor 
patriotism  and  love  liberty! 


Selections  for  lieadlng. 


THE   OLD    POLITICIAN. 
Robert  Buchanan. 

Now  that  Tom  Dimstan's  cold, 

Oiy  shop  is  duller; 
Scarce  a  story  is  told ! 
Aud  our  chat  has  lost  the  old 

Red  republican  color! 
Though  he  was  sickly  and  thin, 

He  gladdened  us  with  his  face. 
How,  warming  at  rich  man's  sin. 
With  bang  of  the  list,  and  cliin 

Thrust  out,  he  argued  the  case! 
He  prophesied  folk  should  be  free. 

And  the  money-bags  be  bled; — 
"She's  coming,  slie's  coming!"  said  he; 
"  Courage,  boys!     Wait  and  see! 

Freedom's  ahead!" 

All  day  we  sat  in  tlie  heat. 

Like  spiders  spinning, 
Stitciiing  full,  fine,  and  fleet, 
Wliile  the  old  Jew  on  liis  seat 

Sat  greasily  grinning; 
And  there  Tom  said  his  saj'. 

And  prophesied  Tyranny's  death; 
And  Ihe  tallow  l)unit  all  da}'. 
And  we  stitched  and  stitched  away 

In  the  thick  smoke  of  our  breath, 
Wearily,  wearily,  so  wearily 

Wilh  hearts  as  heav}'  as  lead; — 
But,  "Patience!  slie's  coming!"  said  hej 
"  Courage,  boys!     Wait  and  see! 

Freedom's  aliead!" 

And  at  night  when  we  took  hers 
The  pause  allowed  to  us, 


Selections  for  Heading.  75 


Tlie  paper  came  with  the  beer 
And  Tom  read,  sharp  and  clear, 

The  news  out  loud  to  us. 
And  tlien  in  his  witt)-  way 

He  threw  the  jest  about. 
The  cutting  things  he'd  say 
Of  the  wealthy  and  the  gay! 

How  he  turned  them  inside  outi 
And  it  made  our  breath  more  free 

To  liearken  to  what  he  said; — 
"  She's  coming,  she's  coming!"  says  he; 
"  Courage,  boys!     Wait  and  see! 

Freedom's  ahead!" 

But  glim  Jack  Hart,  with  a  sneer, 

Woidd  mutter,  "Master! 
If  Freedom  means  to  appear, 
1  tliink  she  might  step  here 

A  little  faster!" 
Then  it  was  fine  to  see  Tom  flame 

And  argue  and  prove  and  preach, 
Till  Jack  was  silent  for  shame. 
Or  a  fit  of  coughing  came 

O'  sudden  to  spoil  Tom's  speech. 
Ah!     Tom  had  tlie  e^-es  to  see 

Wlien  Tyranny  should  be  sped; — 
*'  She's  coming,  slie's  coming!"  said  he; 
"  Courage,  boys!     Wait  and  seel 

Freedom's  ahead!" 

But  Tom  was  little  and  weak; 

The  hard  hours  shook  him; 
Hollower  grew  his  cheek. 
And  when  he  began  to  speak 

The  coughing  took  him. 
Ere  long  the  cheery  sound 

Of  his  chat  among  us  ceased, 
And  we  made  a  purse  all  round 

That  he  might  not  starve,  at  least. 


76  Selections  for  Reading. 

His  pain  was  sorry  to  see, 

Yet  there — on  bis  poor  sick-bccl, 
"  She's  coming  in  spite  of  me! 
Courage  and  wait,"  cried  lie, 
*'  Freedom's  aliead!" 

A  little  before  he  died, 

Just  to  see  his  passion  \ 
"Bring  me  a  paper!"  he  cried, 
And  then  to  study  it  tried 

In  his  old  sharp  fashion ; 
And  with  eyeballs  glittering, 

His  look  on  me  he  bent. 
And  said  that  savage  thing 

Of  the  lords  of  the  Parliament. 
Then  darkening,  smiling  on  me, 
"  What  matter  if  one  be  dead? 
She's  coming,  at  least,"  said  he; 
"Courage,  boj's!    Wait  and  see! 

Freedom's  ahead!" 

And  now  Tom  Dunstan's  cold 

The  shop  feels  duller; 
Scarce  a  story  is  told  ; 
Our  talk  has  lost  the  old 

Red  republican  color! 
But  we  see  a  figure  gra}% 

And  we  hear  a  voice  of  death, 
And  the  tallow  burns  all  da}', 
And  we  stitch  and  stitch  away 

In  the  thick  smoke  of  our  breath; 
Aj',  here  in  the  dnrk  sit  we, 
While  wearily,  wearily. 

We  hear  hira  call  from  the  dead; 
"She's  coming,  she's  coming,"  says  he, 
"  Freedom's  ahead!" 


How  long.  O  Lord,  liow  long 
Doth  tin  luuulmai  '.  linger? 


Selections  for  Reading.  "77 

She  who  shall  right  the  wrong — 
Make  the  oppressed  strong — 

Sweet  morrow,  bring  her! 
Hasten  her  over  the  sea, 

O  Lord,  ere  hope  be  fled; 
Bring  lier  to  men  and  to  me; 
O  slave,  pray  still  on  tliy  knee 

For  the  freedom  aliead! 


m  THE   HIGHLANDS. 
William  Black. 

Th""B  monotonous  sound  of  the  waterfall,  so  far  from  dis- 
turbing the  new  gaest  of  Castle  Dare,  only  soothed  her  to 
rest.  But  in  the  very  midst  of  the  night  she  was  startled 
by  some  loud  commotion  that  appeared  to  prevail  both  within 
and  without  the  house;  and  when  she  was  fully  awakened 
it  seemed  to  her  that  the  whole  earth  was  being  shaken  to 
pieces  in  the  Storm. ,  The  wind  howled  in  the  chimneys; 
the  rain  dashed  on  the  window-panes  with  a  rattle  as  of 
musketry;  far  below  she  could  hear  the  awful  booming  of 
the  Atlantic  breakers.  The  gusts  that  drove  against  the 
high  house  seemed  ready  to  tear  it  from  its  foothold  of  rock 
and  whirl  it  inland;  or  was  it  the  sea  itself  that  was  rising 
'Ti  its  thunderous  power  to  sweep  away  this  bauble  from  the 
face  of  the  mighty  cliffs?  And  then  the  wild  and  desolate 
morning  that  followed!  Through  the  bewilderment  of  the 
running  water  on  the  panes,  she  looked  abroad  on  the 
tempest-riven  sea — a  slate-colored  waste  of  hurrying  waves 
with  wind-swept  streaks  of  foam  on  them — and  on  the 
lowering  and  ever-changing  clouds. 

But  next  day — such  are  the  rapid  changes  in  the  High- 
lands— broke  blue  and  shining;  and  Miss  Grcrtrudc  White 


78  Selections  for  Reading. 

was  amazed  to  find  that  the  awful  Sound  Avas  now  brilliant 
in  the  most  beautiful  colors — for  the  tide  was  low  and  the 
yellow  sandbanks  were  shining  through  the  blue  waters  of 
the  sea.  And  would  she  not,  seeing  that  the  boat  was 
lying  down  vt  the  quay  now,  sail  round  the  island  and  see 
the  splendid  sight  of  the  Atlantic  breaking  on  the  wild 
coast  on  the  western  side?  She  hesitated;  and  then  when 
it  was  suggested  that  she  might  walk  across  the  island,  she 
eagerly  accepted  the  alternative. 

But  where  Macleod,  eager  to  please  her  and  show  her  the 
beauty  of  the  Highlands,  saw  lovely  white  sands,  smiling 
plains  of  verdure,  and  far  views  of  the  sunny  sea,  she  only 
saw  loneliness  and  desolation  and  a  constant  threatening  of 
death  from  the  fierce  Atlantic.  Could  anvthins:  have  l)een 
more  beautiful,  he  said  to  himself,  than  this  magnificent 
scene? — the  wildly  rushinor  seas,  cominsr  thunderinsr  on  to 
the  rocks  and  springing  so  high  into  the  air  that  tlie  snow- 
white  foam  showed  l)lack  against  the  glare  of  the  sky;  tlie 
nearer  islands  gleaming  Avith  a  touch  of  brown  on  their 
sunward  side,  while  far  away  in  the  north  tlie  mountains 
were  faint  and  spectral  in  the  haze  of  the  sunlight.  Then 
the  wild  coast  around  them,  with  its  splendid  masses  of 
granite  and  its  spare  grass,  a  brown-green  in  the  warm 
sun;  its  bays  of  silver  sand,  and  its  sea-birds  whiter  than 
the  white  clouds  that  come  sailing  over  the  blue.  Slie 
recognized  only  the  awfulness  and  the  loneliness  of  that 
wild  shore,  with  its  suggestions  of  crashing  storms  in  the 
night-time  and  the  erics  of  drowning  men  dashed  hel])lessly 
on  the  cruel  rocks.  She  was  very  silent  all  the  way  back, 
though  he  told  her  stories  of  the  fairies  that  used  to  inhabit 
those  sandy  and  grassy  plains. 

And  could  anything  have  been  more  magical  than  the 
beauty  of  that  evening  after  the  storm  had  altogether  died 


Selections  for  Heading.  79 

away?  The  red  snnset  sank  behind  the  dark  olive-green  of 
the  hills;  a  pale,  clear  twilight  took  its  place  and  shone 
over  those  mystic  ruins  that  were  the  object  of  many  a 
thought  and  many  a  pilgrimage  in  the  far  past  and  forgot- 
ten years;  then  the  stars  began  to  glimmer  as  the  distant 
shores  and  the  sea  grew  dark;  a  wonderful  radiance  rose 
behind  the  low  hills;  across  the  waters  of  the  Sound  came 
a  belt  of  quivering  light  as  the  white  moon  sailed  slowly  up 
into  the  sky.  There  was  nn  odor  of  new-mown  hay  in  the 
night  air.  Far  away  they  could  hear  tlie  murmuring  of  the 
waves  around  the  rocks.  They  did  not  speak  a  word  as 
tliev  walked  along  to  those  solemn  ruins  overlooking  the  sea. 
that  were  now  a  mass  of  mysterious  shadow  except  where 
the  eastern  walls  and  the  tower  were  touched  by  the  silvery 
light  that  had  just  come  into  the  heavens. — Macleod  of 
Dare. 


COMPENSATION. 

Frances  Ridley  Haveugal. 

Oh,  the  compensatuig  spriagsl     Oh,  the  balance-wheels  of  life, 
Hidden  away  in  the  workings  under  the  seeming  strife! 
Slowing  the  fret  and  the  friction,  weighting  the  whirl  and  the  force, 
Evolving  the  truest  power  from  each  unconscious  source. 

How  shall  we  gauge  the  whole,  who  can  only  guess  a  part? 
How  can  we  read  the  life  when  we  cannot  spell  the  heart? 
How  shall  we  measure  another,  we  who  can  never  know 
From  the  juttings  above  the  surface,  the  depth  of  the  vein  below? 

Even  our  present  way  is  known  to  ourselves  alone, 
Heiglit  and  abj'ss  and  torrent,  flower  and  thorn  and  stone; 
But  we  gnzc  on  another's  path  as  a  far-olT  mountain  scene, 
Scanning  the  outlined  hills,  but  never  the  vale  s  between. 


80  Selections  for  Reading. 

The  easy  path  iu  the  lowland  IkUIi  little  of  grand  or  new, 
But  a  toilsome  ascent  leads  onward  lo  a  wide  and  glorious  view; 
Peopled  and  warm  is  the  valley,  lonely  and  chill  the  height; 
But  the  peak  that  is  nearer  the  storm-cloud  is  nearer  the  stars  of 
light. 

Launch  on  the  foaming  stream  that  bears  you  along  like  a  dart, — 
There  is  danger  of  rapid  and  rock,  there  is  tension  of  muscle  and 

heart ; 
Glide  on  the  eas}^  current,  monotonous,  calm  and  slow, 
You  are  spared  the  quiver  and  strain  iu  the  safe  and  quiet  flow. 

For  rapture  of  love  is  linked  with  the  pain  or  fear  of  loss, 
And  the  hand  that  takes  the  crown  must  ache  with  many  a  cross; 
Yet  he  who  hath  never  a  conflict,  hath  never  a  victor's  palm, 
And  only  the  toilers  know  the  sweetness  of  rest  and  calm. 

Ah,  if  we  knew  it  all  we  surelj'  should  understand 

That  the  balance  of  joy  and  sorrow  is  held  with  an  even  hand; 

That  the  scale  of  success  or  loss  shall  never  overflow, 

And  that  compensation  is  twined  with  the  lot  of  high  and  low. 

/     in 


'^  ""        THE   SERVICE   OF  ART. 
,-^  ■.     George  Eliot. 

Klesmer  raadc  his  most  deferential  bow  in  the  wide 
doorway  of  the  antechamber.  Gwehdolen  met  liim  with 
wnusual  gravity,  and  holding  out  her  hand,  said,  ''It  is 
most  kind,  of  yon  to  come,  Heir  Klesmer.  I  hope  you  have 
not  thought  me  presum})tnous." 

"■  I  took  your  wish  as  a  command  that  did  me  honor," 
said  Klesmer  with  answering  gravity. 

Gwendolen  for  once  was  under  too  great  a  strain  of  feel- 
ing to  remember  formalities.  She  continued  standing  near 
the  piano,  and  Klesmer  took  his  stand  at  the  other  end  of 


Selections  for  Reading.  81 

it  with  his  back  to  the  light  and  his  terribly  omniscient  ej-cg 
upon  her.  No  affectation  was  of  use,  and  she  began  without 
delay. 

''  I  wish  to  consult  you,  Herr  Klesmer.  We  Imve  lost  all 
our  fortune;  we  have  nothing.  I  must  get  my  own  bread 
and  I  desire  to  provide  for  tuy  mother,  so  as  to  save  her 
from  any  hardship.  The  only  way  I  can  think  of — and  I 
should  like  it  better  than  anything — is  to  be  an  actress,  to 
go  on  the  stage.  But  of  course  I  should  like  to  take  a  high 
position,  and  I  thought — if  you  thought  I  could," — here 
Gwendolen  became  a  little  more  nervous — ''  it  would  be 
better  for  me  to  be  a  singer — to  study  singing  also." 

Klesmer  put  his  hat  on  the  piano,  and  folded  his  arms  as 
if  to  concentrate  himself. 

"I  know,"  Gwendolen  resumed,  "that  my  method  of 
singing  is  very  defective;  but  I  have  been  ill-taught.  I 
could  be  bettor  taught;  I  could  study.  And  you  will  under- 
stand my  wish;  to  sing  and  act  too,  like  Grisi,  is  a  much 
higher  position,  j^aturally  I  should  wish  to  take  as  high  a 
rank  as  I  can.  And  I  can  rely  on  your  judgment.  I  am 
sure  you  will  tell  me  the  truth." 

Gwendolen  somehow  had  the  conviction  that,  now  she 
made  this  serious  appeal,  the  truth  would  be  favorable. 
Still  Klesmer  did  not  speak.  He  was  filled  with  compassion 
for  this  girl.  Presently  he  said,  with  gentle,  though  quick 
utterance,  "You  have  never  seen  anything,  I  think,  of 
artists  and  their  lives?  I  mean  of  musicians,  actors,  artists 
of  any  kind  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Gwendolen,  unperturbed  by  a  reference 
to  this  obvious  fact  in  the  history  of  a  young  lady  hitherto 
well  provided  for. 

"  You  have  probably  not  thought  of  an  artistic  career 
till  now:  you  did  not  entertain  the  notion,  the  longing — 


82  Selections  for  Reading. 

what  shall  I  say? — you  did  not  wish  yourself  an  actress  or 
anything  of  that  sort,  till  the  i:)resent  trouble?" 

"Not  exactly,  but  I  was  fond  of  acting.  I  have  acted; 
you  saw  me,  if  you  remember,  in  charades,"  said  Gwendolen 
really  fearing  that  Klcsmer  had  forgotten. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  answered  quickly,  "I  remember  per- 
fectly." 

He  walked  to  the  other  end  of  the  room.  Gwendolen 
felt  that  she  was  bemg  weighed.  Tlie  delay  was  unpleasant. 
"  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  taking  the  trouble 
to  give  me  your  advice,  v/liatever  it  may  be,"  she  said 
gracefully. 

*'Miss  Harleth,"  said  Klesmer  turning  towards  her,  and 
speaking  with  a  slight  increase  of  accent,  "  I  should  reckon 
myself  guilty  if  I  put  a  false  visage  on  things — made  them 
too  black  or  too  white.  The  gods  have  a  curse  for  him 
who  willingly  tells  another  the  wrong  road.  You  are  a 
beautiful  young  lady.  You  have  been  brought  up  in  ease. 
You  have  not  said  to  yourself,  'I  must  know  this  exactly;' 
*I  must  understand  this  exactly;'  '  I  must  do  this  exactly'."'^ 
In  uttering  these  three  terrible  musts,  Klesmer  lifted  up 
three  long  fingers  in  succession.  "  You  have  not  been 
called  upon  to  be  anything  but  a  charming  young  lady 
with  whom  it  is  impossible  to  find  fault.  Well,  then,  with 
that  preparation,  you  wish  to  try  the  life  of  the  artist;  a 
life  of  arduous,  unceasing  work,  and — uncertain  praise. 
Your  praise  would  have  to  be  earned  like  your  bread;  both 
would  come  slowly,  scantily — what  do  I  say? — they  might 
hardly  come  at  all." 

This  tone  of  discouragement  which  Klesmer  half  hoped 
might  suffice  without  anything  more  unpleasant,  roused 
some  resistance  in  Gwendolen.  With  an  air  of  pique  she 
said,  "  I  thought  that  you,  being  an  artist,  would  consider 


Selections  for  Heading.  83 

the  life  one  of  the  most  honorable  and  delightful.  And  if 
I  can  do  nothing  better?  I  sup()0se  that  1  can  put  up  with 
the  same  risks  that  other  people  do?" 

"  Do  nothing  better!"  said  Klesmer,  a  little  fired.  "  No, 
my  dear  Miss  Harleth,  you  could  do  nothing  better — 
neitlier  man  nor  woman  could  do  any  better — if  you  could 
do  what  was  best  or  good  of  its  kind.  I  am  not  decrying 
the  life  of  the  true  artist.  I  am  exalting  it.  I  say  it  is  out 
of  reach  of  any  but  choice  organizations — natures  framed 
to  love  perfection  and  to  labor  for  it;  ready,  like  all  true 
lovers,  to  endure,  to  wait,  to  say,  'I  am  not  yet  worthy,  but 
she — Art,  my  mistress — is  worthy  and  I  will  live  to  merit 
her.'  An  honorable  life?  Yes,  but  the  honor  comes  from 
the  inward  vocation  and  the  hard-won  achievement;  there 
is  no  honor  in  donning  the  life  as  a  livery." 

'^  I  am  quite  prepared  to  bear  hardships  at  first,"  she 
said.  "  Of  course  no  one  can  become  celebrated  all  at 
once." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Harleth,"  he  replied,  "  you  have  not  yet 
conceived  what  excellence  is.  You  must  know  what  you 
have  to  strive  for,  and  then  you  must  subdue  your  mind  and 
body  to  unbroken  discipline.  Now  wliatsort  of  issue  might 
be  fairly  expected  from  all  this  self-denial?  You  would 
ask  that.  It  is  right  tliat  your  eyes  should  be  open  to  it. 
I  will  tell  you  truthfully.  The  issue  would  be  uncertain 
and — most  ])robably — would  not  bo  worth  much." 

Gwendolen's  dread  of  showing  weakness  urged  her  to 
self-control. 

"  You  think  I  want  talent,  or  am  too  old  to  begin." 

"  Yes!  The  desire  and  training  should  have  begun  years 
ago.  Any  great  achievement  in  acting  or  in  music  grows 
with  the  growth.  Whenever  an  artist  has  been  able  to  say, 
'I  came,  I  saw,  I  conquered,'  it  has  been  at  the  end  of 


84  Selections  for  Reading. 

patient  practice.  Genius  at  first  is  little  more  than  a  great 
capacity  for  receiving  discipline.  Singing  and  acting,  like 
the  fine  dexterity  of  the  juggler  with  his  cups  and  balls, 
require  a  shaping  of  the  organs  towards  a  finer  and  finer 
certainty  of  effect.  Your  muscles — your  whole  frame — 
must  go  like  a  watch,  true,  true,  to  a  hair.  That  is  the 
work  of  youth  before  habits  have  been  determined.  You 
would  find,  after  your  education  in  doing  things  slackly  for 
one  and  twenty  years,  great  difficulties  in  study;  you  would 
find  mortification  in  the  treatment  you  would  get  when  you 
presented  yourself  on  the  footing  of  skill.  You  would  be 
subjected  to  tests;  people  would  no  longer  feign  not  to  see 
your  blunders.  You  would  at  first  be  accepted  only  on 
trial.  You  would  have  to  keep  3'our  place  in  a  crowd,  and, 
after  all,  it  is  likely  you  would  lose  it  and  get  out  of  sight; 
any  success  must  be  won  by  the  utmost  patience.  If  you 
determine  to  face  these  hardships  and  still  try,  you  will  have 
the  dignity  of  a  high  purpose,  even  though  you  may  have 
chosen  unfortunately.  You  will  have  some  merit,  though 
you  may  Avin  no  prize.  You  have  asked  my  judgment  on 
your  chances  of  winning.  I  don't  pretend  to  speak  ab- 
solutely; but,  measuring  probabilities,  my  judgment  is,  you 
will  hardly  achieve  more  than  mediocrity." 

Gwendolen  turned  pale  during  this  speech.  At  that 
moment  she  wished  she  had  not  sent  for  Herr  Klesmer; 
this  first  experience  of  being  taken  on  some  other  ground 
than  that  of  her  social  rank  and  her  beauty  Avas  becoming 
bitter  to  her.  His  words  had  really  bitten  into  her  self- 
confidence,  and  turned  it  into  the  pain  of  a  bleeding  wound. 
But  she  controlled  herself  and  rose  from  her  seat  before 
she  made  any  answer.  It  seemed  natural  that  she  should 
pause.  At  last  she  turned  towards  Klesmer  and  said  with 
almost  her  usual  air  of  })roud  equality,  which  in  this  inter- 


Selections  for  Heading.  85 

view  had  not  been  hitherto  perceptible,  "I  have  to  thank 
you  for  your  kindness  this  morning.  But  I  can't  decide 
now.  In  any  case  I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you.  It  was 
very  bold  of  me  to  ask  you  to  take  this  trouble." 

AVhen  he  had  taken  up  his  hat  and  was  going  to  make 
his  bow,  Gwendolen's  better  self,  conscious  of  an  ingratitude 
which  the  clear-seeing  Klesmer  must  have  penetrated,  made 
a  desperate  effort  to  find  its  Avay  above  the  stifling  layers  of 
egotistic  disappointment  and  irritation.  Looking  at  him 
with  a  glance  of  the  old  gayety,  she  put  out  her  hand,  and 
said  with  a  smile,  ''  If  1  take  the  wrong  road  it  will  not  be 
because  of  your  flattery." 

*'  God  forbid  that  you  should  take  any  road  but  where 
you  Avill  find  and  give  happiness,"  said  Klesmer  fervently. 
Then  in  foreign  fashion,  he  touched  her  fingers  lightly  with 
his  lips,  and  m  another  minute  she  heard  the  sound  of  his 
departing  wheels  upon  the  gravel. — Daniel  Deronda. 


SHIPWEECKED. 

From  the  French  of  Francois  Coppee. 

Before  the  -wine-shop  which  o'erlooks  the  beach 
Sits  Jean  GoGllo,  rough  of  mien  and  speech; 
Our  coast-guard  now  whose  arm  was  sliot  away 
In  tlie  great  fight  of  Navarino  Bay: 
Puffing  his  pipe  he  slowly  sips  his  grog, 
And  spins  sea-yarns  to  many  an  old  sea-dog 
Sitting  around  him. 

Yes,  lads,  hear  him  say, 
'Tis  sixty  years  ago  tliis  very  day 
Since  first  I  went  to  sea;  on  board,  you  know, 
Of  La  Belle  Honorine — lost  long  ago, — 


86  Selections  for  Reading. 


An  old  three-masted  tub,  rotten  almost, 

Just  fit  to  burn,  bound  for  the  Guinea  coast. 

We  set  all  sail.     The  breeze  was  fair  and  stiff. 

My  boyhood  liad  been  passed  'neath  yonder  cliff, 

Where  an  old  man — my  uncle,  so  he  said — 

Kept  me  at  prawning-  for  my  daily  bread. 

At  night  he  came  home  drunk.     Such  kicks  and  blows, 

Ah  me!     What  cliildren  suffer  no  man  knows! 

But  once  at  sea  'twas  ten  times  worse  I  found. 

I  learned  to  take,  to  bear,  and  make  no  sound. 

The  rope's-end,  cuffs,  kicks,  blows,  all  fell  on  me 

I  was  a  ship's  boy — 'twas  natural,  you  see — 

No  man  had  pity.     Blows  and  stripes  always; 

For  sailors  knew  no  better  in  those  days. 

I  ceased  to  cry.     Tears  brought  me  no  relief; 

I  thiidi  I  might  have  perished  of  mute  grief, 

Had  not  God  sent  a  friend— a  friend— to  me. 

Sailors  believe  in  God — one  must  at  sea. 

On  board  tliat  ship  a  God  of  mercy  then 

Had  placed  a  dog  among  those  cruel  men. 

We  soon  grew  friends,  fast  friends,  true  friends,  God  knows. 

When  all  the  forecastle  was  fast  asleep, 

And  our  men  caulked  then-  watch,  I  used  to  creep 

With  Black  among  some  bo.\es  stowed  on  deck, 

And  with  my  arms  clasped  tightly  round  his  neck, 

I  used  to  cry  and  cry  antl  press  my  head 

Close  to  the  heart  grieved  by  the  tears  I  shed. 

Niglit  after  night  I  mourned  our  jjiteous  case. 

While  Black's  large  tongue  licked  my  poor  tear  stained  face. 

Poor  Black!     I  think  of  him  so  often  still! 
At  first  we  had  fair  winds  our  sails  to  fill ; 
But  one  hot  night  when  all  was  calm  and  mute 
Our  skipper— a  good  sailor  tliough  a  brute- 
Gave  a  long  look  over  the  vessel's  side, 
Tlien  to  the  steersman  whispered  half  aside, 
"  See  that  ox-eye  out  yonder?     It  looks  queer." 
The  man  replied,  "  The  storm  will  soon  be  here. 


Selections  for  Reading.  87 


Hullo!     All  hands  on  deck!    We'll  be  prepared! 

Stow  royals!     Reef  the  courses!     Puss  the  word!" 

Vaiu!     The  squall  broke  ere  we  could  sliorten  sail; 

We  lowered  the  topsails,  but  the  raging  gale 

Spun  our  old  ship  about.     The  captain  roared 

His  orders — lost  in  the  great  noise  on  board. 

The  gale  grew  worse  and  worse.     She  sprang  a  leak. 

Her  hold  filled  fast.     We  found  we  bad  to  seek 

Some  way  to  save  our  lives.     "  Lower  a  boat!" 

The  captain  shouted.     Before  one  could  float 

Our  ship  broached  to.     The  strain  had  broke  her  back 

Like  a  whole  broadside  boomed  the  awful  crack. 

She  settled  fast.     Landsmen  can  have  no  notion 

Of  how  it  feels  to  sink  beneath  llie  ocenn. 

As  the  blue  billows  closed  above  our  deck. 

And  with  slow  motion  swallowed  down  the  wreck, 

I  saw  my  past  life  by  some  flash  outspread, 

Saw  the  old  port,  its  ships,  its  old  pier  head, 

My  own  bare  feet,  the  rocks,  the  sandy  shore. 

Salt  water  filled  my  mouth.     I  saw  no  more, 

I  did  not  struggle  much — I  could  not  swim. 

1  sank  down  deep,  it  seemed,  drowned  but  for  him. 

For  Black,  I  mean,  who  seized  my  jacket  tight, 

And  dragged  me  out  of  darkness  back  to  light; 

The  ship  was  gone,  the  captain's  gig  afloat. 

By  one  brave  tug  he  brought  me  near  the  boat. 

I  seized  the  gunwale,  sprang  on  board  and  drew 

My  friend  in  after  me.     Of  all  our  crew, 

The  dog  and  1  alone  survived  the  gale; 

Afloat  with  neither  rudder,  oars,  nor  sail ! 

For  five  long  nights  and  longer  dreadful  days 

We  floated  onward  in  a  tropic  haze. 

Fierce  hunger  gnawed  us  with  its  cruel  fangs. 

And  mental  anguish  with  its  keener  pangs. 

Each  morn  I  hoped;  each  night  when  lujpe  was  gone 

My  poor  dog  licked  me  with  his  teudci-  tongue. 


88  Selections  for  Heading. 

Under  tlic  binzing  sun  and  starlit  night 
I  watched  in  vain.     No  sail  appeared  in  sight, 
Round  us  the  blue  spread,  wider,  bluer,  higher. 
The  liflh  day  my  parched  throat  was  all  on  fire, 
When  something  suddenly  my  notice  caught — 
Black — shivering,  crouching  underneath  a  thwart 
He  looked — his  dreadful  look  no  tongue  can  tell. 
And  his  kind  eyes  glared  out  like  coals  of  hell! 


"  Here,  Black!     Old  fellow,  here!"  I  cried  iu  vaiu. 
He  looked  lue  in  the  face  and  crouched  again. 
I  rose;  he  snarled,  drew  back.     How  piteously 
His  eyes  entreated  help!     He  snapped  at  me! 
Then  I  knew  all!     Five  days  of  tropic  heat 
Without  one  drop  of  drink,  one  scrap  of  meat, 
Had  made  him  rabid.     He  whose  courage  had 
Preserved  my  life — my  messmate,  friend — was  mad! 

You  understand?     Can  you  see  him  and  me. 
The  open  Ijoat  tossed  on  a  brassy  sea, — 
A  child  and  a  wild  beast  on  board  alone, 
While  overhead  streams  down  the  tropic  sun, 
And  the  boy  crouching,  trembling  for  his  life? 
1  searched  my  pockets  and  I  drew  my  knife, 
And  at  that  moment  with  a  furious  bound 
The  dog  flew  at  me.     I  sprang  half  around. 
He  missed  me  in  blind  haste.     With  all  my  might 
I  seized  his  neck  and  grasped  and  held  him  tiglit. 
I  felt  him  writhe  and  try  to  bite,  as  he 
Struggled  beneath  the  pressure  of  my  knee; 
His  red  eyes  rolled;  sighs  heaved  his  heavy  coat, 
I  plunged  my  knife  three  times  in  his  poor  throat. 

And  so  I  killed  my  friend.     1  had  I»ut  one. 
What  matters  how,  after  that  deed  was  done. 
The}'  picked  me  up  half  dead,  drenched  in  his  gore 
And  took  me  back  to  France.     Need  I  say  more? 


Selections  for  Heading.  89 


I  have  killed  me,  ay,  many — in  my  day 

Without  remorse,  for  sailors  must  obey. 

One  of  a  squad,  once  in  J3arbadoes,  I 

Shot  my  own  comrade  when  condemned  to  die. 

I  nevei-  dream  of  Mm,  for  tliat  was  war. 

Under  old  Magon,  too,  at  Trafalgar 

I  hacked  the  hands  off  English  boarders.     Ten 

My  axe  lopped  off.     I  dream  not  of  those  men. 

At  Plymouth,  in  a  prison  hulk,  I  slew 

Two  English  jailers,  stabbed  them  througli  and  through. 

I  did,  confound  them!     But  yet  even  now 

The  death  of  Black,  although  so  long  ago, 

Upsets  me.     I'll  not  sleep  to-niglit.     It  brings — 

Here,  boy!     Another  glass!     We'll  talk  of  other  tilings! 

— Harper  s  Magazine. 


EUDDER   GRANGE. 
Fkank  R.  Stockton. 

0]srE  afternoon  as  I  was  Imn-ying  down  Broadway  to  catch 
the  five  o'clock  train,  I  met  Wuterford.  He  is  an  old  friend 
of  mine,  and  I  used  to  like  him  pretty  well. 

"  Hello!"  said  he,  "  where  are  you  going?" 

"  Home,"  I  answered. 

"  Is  that  so?"  said  he.     "  I  didn't  know  you  had  one." 

I  was  a  little  nettled  at  this,  and  so  I  said,  somewhat 
brusquely  perhaps: 

"  But  you  must  have  known  I  lived  somewhere." 

"  Oh,  yes,  but  I  thotight  you  boarded.  I  had  no  idea  you 
had  a  home." 

"  But  I  have  one  and  a  very  pleasant  home,  too.  You 
must  excuse  me  for  not  stopping  longer,  as  I  must  catch 
my  train." 


90  Selections  for  Reading. 

"  Oh,  I'll  walk  along  with  you,"  said  Waterford,  and  so 
we  went  down  the  street  together. 

"  Where  is  your  little  house?"  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  live  in  a  house  at  all." 

''Why,  where  do  you  live?"  lie  exclaimed  stopping  short. 

"  I  live  in  a  boat,"  said  I. 

"  A  boat!  A  sort  of  '  Rob  Roy  '  arrangement,  I  suppose. 
"Well,  I  would  not  have  thought  that  of  you.  And  your 
wife,  I  snppose,  has  gone  home  to  her  people?" 

"  She  has  done  nothing  of  the  kind,"  I  answered.  "  She 
lives  with  me  and  she  likes  it  very  much.  We  are  extremely 
comfortable,  and  our  boat  is  not  a  canoe  or  any  such  non- 
sensical affair.     It  is  a  large,  commodious  canal-boat." 

Waterford  turned  around  and  looked  at  me. 

"Are  you  a  deck-hand?"  he  asked. 

"  Deck — fiddlesticks!"  I  exclaimed. 

'' Well,  you  needn't  get  mad  about  it,"  he  said.  "I 
didn't  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings;  but  I  couldn't  see  what 
else  you  could  be  on  a  canal-boat.  I  don't  sujipose,  for 
instance,  that  you're  Captain." 

"  But  I  am,"  said  I. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Waterford,  ''  this  is  coming  it  rather 
strong,  isn't  it?" 

As  I  saw  he  Avas  getting  angry,  I  told  him  all  about  it — ■ 
told  him  how  we  had  hired  a  stranded  canal-boat  and  had 
fitted  it  u})  as  a  house,  and  how  cosily  we  lived  in  it,  and 
how  we  had  taken  a  boarder. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  that  is  certainly  surprising.  I'm  com- 
ing out  to  see  you  some  day.  It  will  be  better  than  going 
to  Barnum's." 

I  told  him — it  is  the  way  of  society — that  we  would  be 
glad  to  see  him,  and  we  parted.  Waterford  never  did  come 
to  see  us,  and  I  merclv  mention  this  incident  to  show  how 


Selections  for  Reading.  91 

some  of  our  friends  talked  about  "  Rudder  Grange''  when 
they  first  heiird  that  we  lived  there. 

Althougli  we  lived  in  a  canal-boat  we  kept  a  girl.  Her 
name  was  Pomona.  Whether  or  not  her  parents  gave  her 
this  name  is  doubtful.  At  any  rate  she  did  not  seem  quite 
decided  about  it  herself,  for  she  had  not  been  with  us  more 
than  two  weeks  before  she  expressed  a  desire  to  be  called 
Clare.  This  longing  of  her  heart  was  denied  her.  My 
Avife,  who  was  always  correct,  called  her  Pomona.  I  did 
the  same  whenever  I  could  think  not  to  say  Bologna — 
which  seemed  to  come  very  pat,  for  some  reason  or  other. 
As  for  our  boarder,  he  generally  called  her  Altoona,  con- 
necting her  in  some  way  with  the  process  of  stopping  for 
refreshments,  in  which  she  was  an  adept. 

She  was  an  earnest,  hearty  girl.  She  was  always  in  good 
humor,  and  when  I  asked  her  to  do  anything,  she  assented 
in  a  bright,  cheerful  way  and  in  a  loud  tone  full  of  good- 
fellowship,  as  though  she  would  say: 

"  Certainly,  my  high  old  boy!  To  be  sure  I  will!  Don't 
worry  about  it.  Give  your  mind  no  more  uneasiness  on 
that  subject.     Of  course  I'll  bring  the  hot  water." 

She  did  not  know  very  much,  but  she  delighted  to  learn 
and  she  was  very  strong.  Whatever  my  wife  told  her  to 
do,  she  did  instantly — wdth  a  bang.  Tlie  one  thing  about 
her  that  troubled  me  more  than  anything  else  was  her  taste 
for  literature.  It  was  not  literature  to  which  I  objected, 
but  her  peculiar  taste.  She  read  in  the  kitchen  every  night 
after  she  had  washed  the  dishes,  but  if  she  had  not  read 
aloud  it  would  not  have  made  so  much  difference  to  me. 
But  I  do  not  like  the  company  of  people  who,  like  our  girl, 
cannot  read  without  pronouncing  in  a  measured  and  distinct 
voice  every  Avord  of  what  they  are  reading.  And  when  the 
matter  thus  read  appeals  to  one's  every  sentiment  of  aver- 


92  Select io)is  for  Heading. 


sion,  and  there  is  no  way  of  escaping  it,  the  case  is  h_arcl 
indeed. 

From  the  first  I  felt  inclined  to  order  Pomona,  if  she 
could  not  attain  the  power  of  silent  perusal,  to  cease  from 
reading  altogether;  but  Euphemia  would  not  hear  to  tliis. 

"  Poor  thing!"'  said  she,  "  it  would  be  cruel  to  take  from 
iier  her  only  recreation.  And  she  says  she  can't  read  in  any 
other  Avay.     You  needn't  listen  if  you  don't  want  to. " 

That  was  all  very  well  in  an  abstract  point  of  view;  but 
the  fact  was  that  in  practice,  the  more  I  didn't  want  to 
listen  the  more  I  heard.  And  when  I  Avas  trying  to  read 
or  reflect  it  was  by  no  means  exhilarating  to  my  mind  to 
hear  from  the  next  room  that,  "  The  la  dy  ce  sel  i  a  now 
si  zed  the  weep  on  and  all  though  the  boor  ly  vil  ly  an  re 
tain  ed  his  vig  gor  ous  hold  she  drew  the  blade  through  his 
fin  gers  and  hoorl  ed  it  far  be  hind  her  drip  ping  with 
jore."  This  sort  of  thing,  kept  up  for  an  hour  or  so  at  a 
time,  used  to  drive  me  nearly  wild.  On  one  particular 
nigiit  I  was  very  tired  and  sleepy,  and  soon  after  I  got  into 
bed  I  dropped  into  a  delightful  slumber.  But  before  long 
I  was  awakened  by  the  fact  that:  "  Sarah  did  not  fi  inch 
but  grasp  ed  the  heat  ed  i  ron  in  her  in  ju  red  hand  and 
when  the  ra  bid  an  i  mal  ap  proach  ed  she  thrust  the  lu  rid 
po  ker  in  his  — '' 

"  My  conscience!'"  said  I  to   Euphemia,  ''can't  that  girl 
be  stopped?"' 

"  You  Avouldn't  have  her  sit  there  and  do  nothing,  would 
you?"  said  she. 

"No,  but  she  needn't  read  that  way." 

"  She  can't  read  any  other  way,""  said  Euphemia  drowsily. 

"Yell   after  yell   re  soun  ded   as  he  wild  ly  sp  rang  to 
wards  lier  and  — "' 

"  I  can't  stand  that  and  I  won't,'"  .--aid   I.     "  Wiiv  don't 


Selections  for  Heading.  93 

she  go  into  tlie  kitchen?  The  dining-room's  no  phice  for 
her." 

"  She  must  not  sit  there,"  said  Euphemia.  "  There's  a 
window-pane  out.     Can't  yon  cover  up  your  head?" 

"  I  shall  not  be  able  to  breathe  if  I  do,  but  I  suppose  that's 
no  matter,"  I  replied. 

The  reading  continued. 

*'Ha,  ha!  Lord  Mar  mont  thundered  thou  too  shalt 
suf  fer  for  all  that  this  poor  — " 

I  sprang  out  of  bed. 

Euphemia  thought  I  was  going  for  my  pistol,  and  she 
gave  one  bound  and  stuck  her  head  out  of  the  door. 

"Pomona,  fly!"  she  cried. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Pomona;  and  she  got  up  and  flew, 
though  not  very  fast,  I  imagine.  Where  she  flew  to  I  don't 
know,  but  she  took  the  lamp  with  her,  and  I  could  hear 
distinct  syllables  of  agony  and  blood  until  she  went  to  bed. 


A   ROYAL   PPJNCESS. 
Chuistixa  G.  Rossetti. 

I,  A  princess,  king-descended,  decked  with  jewels,  gilded,  drest, 

Would  rfither  be  a  peasant  with  a  baby  at  her  breast, 

For  all  I  shine  so  like  the  sun,  and  am  purple  like  the  west. 

Two  and  two  my  guards  behind;  two  and  two  before; 
Two  and  two  on  either  hand,  they  guard  me  evermore; 
Me,  poor  dove,  that  must  not  coo ;  eagle  that  must  not  soar. 

All  my  fountains  cast  up  perfumes,  all  my  gardens  grow 
Scented  woods  and  foreign  spices,  with  all  flowers  in  blow 
That  are  costly,  out  of  season,  as  the  seasons  go. 


94  Selections  for  Reading. 

All  my  walls  are  lost  in  mirrors  whereupon  I  trace 
Self  to  right  hand,  self  to  left  hand;  self  in  every  place. 
Self -same  solitary  figure,  self-same  seeking  face. 

Then  I  have  an  ivory  chair  hiirh  to  sit  upon, 

Almost  like  my  father's  chair  whicli  is  an  ivory  throne^ 

There  I  sit  upright  and  there  I  sit  alone. 

Alone  by  day,  alone  by  night,  alone  days  without  end; 

My  father  and  my  mother  give  me  treasures,  search  and  spend — 

O  my  father!     O  my  mother!  have  you  ne'er  a  friend? 

As  I  am  a  lofty  princess,  so  my  father  is 

A  lofty  king,  accomplished  in  all  kingly  subtilties, 

nolding  in  his  strong  right  hand  world-kingdom's  balances. 

He  has  quarreled  with  his  neighbors,  he  has  scourged  his  foes; 
Vassal  counts  and  princes  follow  -where  his  pennon  goes; 
Long-descended  valiant  lords,  whom  the  vulture  knows. 

On  whose  track  the  vulture  swoops  when  the}'  ride  in  state 
To  break  the  strength  of  armies  and  topple  down  the  great; 
Each  of  these  my  courteous  servant,  none  of  these  my  mate. 

My  father,  ccmnting  up  his  strength  sets  down  with  equal  pen, 

So  many  head  of  cattle,  head  of  horses,  head  of  men; 

These  for  slaughter,  these  for  breeding,  with  the  how  and  when. 

Some  to  work  on  roads,  canals;  some  to  man  his  ships; 
Some  to  smart  in  mines  beneath  sharp  overseer's  whips; 
Some  to  trap  fur  l)easts  in  lands  where  utmost  winter  nips. 

Once  it  came  into  my  heart  and  whelmed  me  like  a  flood 

That  these  too  are  men  and  women,  human  flesh  and  blood; 

Men  with  hearts  and  men  with  souls,  though  trodden  down  like  mud. 

Our  feasting  was  not  glad  that  night,  our  music  was  not  gay; 
On  my  motlier's  graceful  head  I  marked  a  thread  of  gray; 
My  father,  frowning  at  tlie  fare,  seemed  every  dish  to  weigh 


Selections  for  Reading.  95 


The  singing  men  ivud  women  sang  that  night  as  usual; 
The  dancers  danced  in  pairs  aud  sets,  but  music  had  a  fall— 
A  melancholy,  windy  fall  as  at  a  funeral. 

Amid  the  toss  of  torches  to  my  chamber  back  we  swept; 

My  ladies  loosed  my  golden  chain;  meanwhile  I  could  have  wept 

To  think  of  some  in  galling  chains  whether  they  waked  or  slept. 

A  day  went  by,  a  week  went  by.     One  day  I  heard  it  said, 
"  Men  are  clamoring,  women,  children,  clamoring  to  be  fed; 
Men  like  famished  dogs  are  howling  in  the  streets  for  bread." 

Other  footsteps  followed  after  with  a  weightier  tramp; 

Voices  said:  "  Picked  soldiers  have  been  summoned  from  the  camp 

To  quell  these  base-born  ruffians  who  make  free  to  howl  aud  stump." 

"Howl  and  stamp!"  one  answered.     "  They  made  free  to  hurl  a  stone 
At  the  minister's  state  coach,  well  aimed  and  stoutly  thrown." 
"There's  work,  then,  for  the  soldiers,  for  this  rank  crop  must  be 
mown." 

One  I  saw,  a  poor  old  fool  with  ashes  on  his  head. 
Whimpering  because  a  girl  had  snatched  his  crust  of  bread; 
Then  he  dropped;  when  some  one  raised  him,  it  turned  out  that  he 
was  dead. 

These  passed.     The  king.     Stand  up.     Said  my  father  with  a  smile, 
"Daughter  mine,  your  mother  comes  to  sit  with  you  awhile; 
She  is  sad  to-day,  and  who  but  you  her  sadness  can  beguile?" 

He  too  left  me.     Shall  I  touch  my  harp  now  while  I  wait 
(I  hear  them  doubling  guard  below  before  our  palace  gate) — 
Or  shall  I  work  the  last  gold  stitch  into  my  veil  of  state? 

Or  shall  my  women  stand  and  read  some  unimpassioned  scene — 
There's  music  of  a  lulling  sort  in  words  that  pause  between — 
Or  shall  she  merely  fan  me  while  I  wait  here  for  the  queen? 

Again  I  caught  my  father's  voice  in  sharp  word  of  command: 
"Charge!"  a  clash  of  steel.     "  Charge  again,  the  rebels  stand! 
Smite  and  spare  not,  hand  to  hand;  smite  and  spare  not,  hand  to 
hand!" 


96  Selections  for  Reading. 

There  swelled  a  tumult  at  the  gate,  high  voices  waxing  higher; 
A  tlash  of  red  rcliecied  light  lit  the  cathedral  spire; 
I  heard  a  cry  for  fagots,  then  I  heard  a  jx'll  of  lire. 

"  Sit  and  roast  there  with  your  meat,  sit  and  bake  there  with  your 

bread, 
You  who  sat  to  see  us  starve,"  one  shrieking  woman  said; 
"  Sit  on  your  throne  and  roast  with  your  crown  upon  your  head." 

Nay  this  thing  will  I  do,  while  my  mother  tarrieth: 
I  will  lake  my  fine  spun  gold,  but  not  to  sew  therewith, 
I  will  take  my  gold  and  gems  and  rainbow  fan  and  wreath; 

With  a  ransom  in  my  lap,  a  king's  ransom  in  my  hand, 

I  will  go  down  to  this  people,  will  stand  face  to  face,  will  stand 

Where  they  curse  king,  queen,  and  princess  of  this  cursed  land. 

They  shall  take  all  to  buy  them  bread,  take  all  I  have  to  give; 
I,  if  I  perish,  perish;  they  to-day  shall  eat  and  live; 
I,  if  I  perish,  perish;  that's  the  goal  I  half  conceive. 

Once  to  speak  before  the  w.orld,  rend  bare  my  heart  and  show 
The  lesson  I  have  learned  which  is  death,  is  life,  to  know. 
I,  if  I  perish,  perish;  in  the  name  of  God  I  go. 


DOLLY. 

H.\RRIET   BEECnEU   STOWIE. 

Our  little  Dolly  wns  a  Lite  .uitiimn  chicken,  the  youngest 
of  ten  children,  the  nursing,  roaring,  and  caring  for  whom 
had  straitened  the  limited  salary  of  Parson  Gushing  of 
Poganuc  Center,  and  sorely  worn  on  the  nerves  and  strength 
of  the  good  wife,  who  plied  the  laboring  oar  in  these  per- 
formances. 

It  was  Dolly".-  lot  to  enter  the  family  at   a  period  when 


Selections  for  Reading.  97 

babies  were  no  longer  a  novelty;  when  the  house  was  full  of 
the  wants  and  clamors  of  older  children,  and  the  mother  at 
her  very  wits'  end  with  a  confusion  of  jackets  and  trowsers, 
soap,  candles,  and  groceries  and  the  endless  harassments  of 
making  both  ends  meet  which  pertain  to  the  lot  of  a  poor 
country  minister's  wife. 

Although  it  never  distinctly  occurred  to  Dolly  to  murmur 
at  her  lot  in  life,  yet  at  times  she  sighed  over  the  dreadful 
insignificance  of  being  only  a  little  girl  in  a  great  family 
of  grown-up  people.  For  even  Dolly's  brothers  were  study- 
ing in  the  academy,  and  spouting  scraps  of  superior  Latin 
at  her  to  make  her  stare  and  wonder  at  their  learning.  She 
was  a  robust  little  creature,  and  consequently  received  none 
of  the  petting  which  a  more  delicate  child  might  have 
claimed.  Once  Dolly  remembered  to  have  had  a  sore  throat 
with  fever.  The  doctor  was  sent  for.  Her  mother  put 
away  all  her  work  and  held  her  in  her  arms.  Her  father 
sat  up  rocking  her  nearly  all  night,  and  her  noisy,  royster- 
ing  brothers  came  softly  to  her  door  and  inquired  how  she 
was.  Dolly  was  only  sorry  that  the  cold  passed  off  so  soon, 
and  she  found  herself  healthy  and  insignificant  as  ever. 
Being  gifted  with  an  active  fancy,  she  sometimes  imagined 
a  scene  when  she  should  be  sick  and  die,  and  her  father  and 
mother  and  everybody  would  cry  over  her.  She  could  see 
no  drawback  to  the  interest  of  the  scene,  except  that  slie 
could  not  be  there  to  enjoy  her  own  funeral,  and  see  how 
much  she  was  appreciated. 

The  parsonage  had  the  advantage  of  three  garrets — 
splendid  ground  for  little  people.  There  was  first  the 
garret  over  the  kitchen,  the  floors  of  which  in  fall  were 
covered  with  stores  of  yellow  pumpkins,  fragrant  heaps  of 
quinces,  and  less  fragrant  spread  of  onions.  There  were 
bins  of  shelled  corn  and  of  oats,  and,  as  in  every  other  gar- 


98  Selections  for  Heading. 

ret  in  the  house,  there  were  also  barrels  of  old  sermons  and 
family  papers.  Garret  number  two  was  over  the  central 
portion  of  the  house.  There  were  piles  of  bed-quilts  and 
comforters,  and  chests  of  blankets;  rows  and  ranges  of  old 
bonnets  and  old  hats  that  seemed  to  nod  mysteriously  from 
their  nails.  There  were  old  spinning-wheels,  an  old  clock, 
old  arm-chairs  and  old  pictures,  snuffy  and  grim,  and  more 
barrels  of  sermons.  In  one  corner  hung  in  order  the  dried 
herbs — catnip  and  boneset  and  elder-blow  and  hardback 
and  rosemary  and  tansy  and  pennyroyal,  all  gathered  at 
the  right  time  of  the  moon,  dried  and  sorted  and  tied  in 
bundles  hanging  from  their  different  nails — those  canonized 
floral  saints  which  when  living  filled  the  air  with  odors  of 
health  and  sweetness,  and  whose  very  mortal  remains  and 
dry  bones  were  supposed  to  have  healing  virtues. 

Then  those  barrels  of  sermons  and  old  pamphletsi  Dolly 
had  turned  them  over  and  over,  upsetting  them  on  the  floor, 
and  reading  their  titles  with  amazed  eyes.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  there  were  some  thousands  of  the  most  unintelligi- 
ble things.  **  An  Appeal  on  the  Unlawfulness  of  a  Man's 
Marrying  his  Wife's  Sister"  turned  np  in  every  barrel  which 
she  investigated  till  her  soul  despaired  of  finding  an  end. 
Then  there  were  Thanksgiving  sermons;  Fast-day  sermons; 
sermons  that  discoursed  on  the  battle  of  Culloden;  on  the 
character  of  Frederick  the  Great;  a  sermon  on  the  death  of 
George  the  Second,  beginning,  ''Georgel  George!  George 
is  no  more!"  This  somewhat  dramatic  opening  caused 
Dolly  to  put  that  one  discourse  into  her  private  library. 
But,  oh,  joy  and  triumph!  One  rainy  day  she  found  at  the 
bottom  of  an  old  barrel  a  volume  of  the  '' Arabian  Xights." 
Henceforth  her  fortune  was  made.  To  read  was  with  her  a 
passion,  and  a  book  once  read  was  read  daily,  always  becom- 
ing dearer  and  dearer  as  an  old  friend.     The  "Arabian 


Selections  for  Reading.  99 

Nights"  transported  lier  to  foreign  lands,  gave  lier  a  new 
life  of  her  own;  and  when  things  went  astray  Avitli  her, 
when  the  boys  went  to  play  higher  t?ian  she  dared  to  climb 
in  the  barn  or  started  on  fishing  excursions,  where  they 
considered  her  an  incumbrance,  then  she  found  a  snug 
corner,  where  she  could  at  once  sail  forth  on  her  bit  of 
enchanted  carpet  into  fairy-land. — Poyanuc  People. 


THE   SEVEN   DAYS. 

Frances  L.  Mace. 

Monday. 

{Day  of  the  Moon.) 
Diana,  sister  of  the  Sun !  thy  ray 

Governs  these  opening  liours.     The  world  is  wide, 

We  know  not  what  new  evil  may  betide 
This  six  days'  joui'ney;  by  wliat  unknown  way 
We  come  at  last  unto  the  royal  day 

Of  prophesy  and  prorai;e.     Oh,  preside 

Propitious,  and  our  doubting  footsteps  guide 
Onward  and  sunward.  Long  in  shadows  gray 
We  liave  but  slumbered — Iiidden  from  our  view 

Knowledge  and  wisdonl  in  unfruitful  night. 
But,  if  upon  the  dawn's  unfolding  blue 

Thy  hand  this  day  our  destiny  must  write, 
Once  more  our  outer,  inward  life  renew 

With  Heaven's  first  utterance — Let  there  be  light. 

Tuesday. 

{Day  of  the  War- God.) 

Fear  not,  O  soul,  to-day!     Imperial  Mars 
Leads  on  the  hours,  a  brave  and  warlike  train, 
Fire  in  his  glance  and  splendor  in  his  reign, 
From  the  first  glitter  through  the  sunrise  bars 
Till  his  red  banner  flames  among  the  starsl 


100  Selections  for  Heading. 

Thou  too  go  forth,  aud  fully  armed  maintain 

Duty  aud  right.     The  hero  is  not  slain 
Though  pierced  and  wounded  in  a  hundred  wars. 
The  daring  are  the  deathless.     He  alone 

Is  victor  who  staj'S  not  for  anj'  doom 
Foreshadowed;  utters  neither  sigh  nor  moan 

Death-stricken,  but  right  onward,  his  fair  plume 

Scorched  in  the  battle  flame,  through  smoke  and  gloom 
Strikes  for  the  right,  nor  counts  his  life  his  own. 

Wednesday. 
{Bay  of  Odin.) 

The  mighty  Odin  rides  abroad,  and  earth 

Trembles,  aud  echoes  back  his  ghostly  sigh. 

More  deep  than  thought,  more  sad  than  memory. 
The  very  birds  rejoice  in  timid  mirlh, 
For  in  the  forest  sudden  gusts  have  birth, 

And  harsh  against  the  pale,  appealing  sky 

Ascends  his  ravens'  melancholy  cry. 
Peace  be  with  Odin.     Of  his  ancient  worth 
Many  aud  proud  the  tales  we  will  repeat, 

For  sacred  memories  to  these  hours  belong. 
But  yesterday  with  reckless  speed  our  feet 

Dared  the  bold  height.     With  spirit  no  less  strong 
To-day  step  softly.     After  ^battle's  heat 

Warriors  and  wars  are  only  themes  for  song. 

Thursday. 
{Day  of  tlie  Mighty.) 

White-kobed,  white  crowned,  and  borue  by  steeds  snow-white 

The  thuuderer  rolls  across  the  echoiug  skiesl 

No  hour  is  this  to  dream  of  past  surprise. 
Or  with  old  runes  the  memory  to  delight. 
The  mountain  tops  with  prophet  beams  are  bright. 

The  eagle  soars  aloft  with  jubilant  cries! 

Tliou  too;  unto  the  hills  litl  up  thine  eyes; 


Select  ions  for  Beading.  101 


To  some  uew  throne  these  sacred  signs  invite. 
Learn  tliy  own  strength;  and  if  some  secret  sense 

Of  power  untried  pervades  thy  low  estate. 
Bend  tliy  soul's  purest,  best  intelligence 

To  seek  the  mastery  of  time  and  fate. 
Courage  and  deathless  hope  and  toil  intense 

Are  the  crown  jewels  of  the  truly  great. 

Friday, 

{Day  of  the  Beautiful.) 

In  the  world-garden  walled  with  living  green 

The  foam-b(n-u  goddess  of  delight  to-day 

Plucks  glowing  garlands  for  her  own  array. 
Poppy  and  myrtle  in  her  wreath  are  seen, 
And  roses,  bending  o'er  her  brow  serene. 

Blush  to  perceive  she  is  more  fair  than  they. 

Sweet  grasses  at  her  feet  their  odors  lay, 
While  doves,  low  warbling,  hover  round  their  queen. 
In  this  brief  life  shall  ever  toil  and  care 

Hold  fast  our  wishes?    Earth's  bewildering  bowers, 
Her  streams  melodious  and  her  woodlands  fair 

Are  palaces  for  gods.     The  world  is  ours! 
Beauty  and  love  our  birthrigiit;  we  will  sliare 

The  sunshine  and  the  singing  and  the  flowers  I 

Saturday. 
{Bay  of  Saturn.) 

Though  bright  with  jewels  nnd  with  garlands  dressed 

The  bloom  decays,  the  world  is  growing  old! 

Lost  are  the  days  when  peaceful  Saturn  told 
The  arts  to  men  and  shared  their  toil  or  rest 
With  eloquence  divine.     The  Oljnnpian  guest 

Took  with  hiiu  in  his  flight  the  age  of  gold! 

Westward  through  myriad  centuries  has  rolled 
The  ceaseless  pilgrimage,  the  liopeless  quest 
For  the  true  Fatherland.     Through  weary  years 


102  Seltclio/is  /or  Reading. 

Wlial  if  some  rainbow  glory  spans  tlie  gloom? 
Some  strong,  sweet  utterance  the  waj^side  checra? 

Or  gladness  opens  like  a  rose  in  bloom? 
Step  after  step  the  fatal  moment  nears; 

Earth  for  new  graves  is  ever  making  room. 

Sunday. 

{Day  of  the  Sun.) 

Thou  glorious  Sun,  illumining  the  blue 

Highway  of  heaven!  to  thy  triumphant  rays 

The  earth  her  shadow  yields,  the  hill-tops  blaze, 
Up  lifts  the  mist,  up  floats  the  midnight  dew. 
Old  things  are  passed  away;  the  world  is  new; 

Labor  is  changed  to  rest  and  rest  to  praise; 

Past  are  the  toilsome  heights,  the  stormy  days. 
The  eternal  Future  breaks  upon  our  view! 
Last  eve  we  lingered  uttering  our  farewells, 

But  lo!  One  met  us  in  the  early  liglit 
Of  this  divinest  morn.     The  tale  lie  tells 

Transllgurcs  life;  and  opens  heaven  to  sight. 
Bring  altar  llowers!     Lilies  and  asphodels! 

Sing  Jubilates!     There  is  no  more  night! 

— Atlantic  MontJdy. 


TRIPLET  AND   FAMILY. 

Charles  Reade. 

James  Tkiplet,  water  in  his  eye,  bttt  fire  in  his  heart, 
went  home  on  wings.  Arrived  there  he  anticijmted  citri- 
osity  by  informing  all  hands  that  he  should  answer  no 
questions.  Only  in  the  intervals  of  a  work  which  was  to 
take  the  family  out  of  all  their  troubles,  hcsliould  gradually 
unfold  a  tale  verging  on  the  marvelous — a  tale  whose  only 
fault  was  that  fiction,  by  which  alone  tiie  family  could  hojje 
to  be  great,  paled  beside  it.     He  then  seized  some  sheets  of 


Selections  for  Reading.  103 

l)aper,  fished  out  some  old  dramatic  sketches  and  a  list  of 
dramatis  personce  prepared  years  ago,  and  plunged  into  a 
comedy. 

Mrs.  Triplet  groaned  aloud  with  a  world  of  meaning. 

*' "Wife,"  said  Triplet,  "don't  put  me  into  a  frame  of 
mind  in  which  successful  comedies  are  not  written." 

He  scribbled  away,  but  his  wife's  despondency  told  upon 
the  man  of  disappointments.  He  stuck  fast;  then  he  be- 
came fidgety. 

*'  Do  keep  those  children  quiet!"  said  the  father. 

"Hush,  my  dears,"  said  the  mother,  "let  your  father 
write.  Comedy  seems  to  give  you  more  trouble  than 
tragedy,  James,"  she  added  soothingly. 

"  Yes,"  was  his  answer.  "  Sorrow  comes  somehow  more 
natural  to  me.  But  for  all  that  I  have  got  a  bright  thouglit, 
Mrs.  Triplet.  Listen,  all  of  you.  You  see,  Jane,  they  are 
all  at  a  sumptuous  banquet — all  the  dramatis  jJ&rsoncB." 
Triplet  went  on  writing  and  reading  aloud.  "  Music, 
sparkling  wine,  massive  plate,  rose-water  in  the  hand- 
glasses, soup,  fish — shall  I  have  three  sorts  of  fish?  I  will. 
They  are  cheap  in  this  market.  Ah,  Fortune,  you  wretch, 
here,  at  least,  I  am  your  master  and  I'll  make  you  know  it! 
Venison,"  wrote  Triplet  with  a  malicious  grin,  "game, 
pickles,  etc.  Then  up  jumps  one  of  the  guests  and  says 
he  — " 

"Oh,  dear!     I'm  so  hungry!" 

This  was  not  from  the  comedy,  but  from  one  of  the  boys. 

"And  so  am  I!"  cried  a  girl. 

"  That  is  an  absurd  remark,  Lysimachus,"  said  Triplet 
with  a  suspicious  calmness.  "  How  can  a  boy  be  hungry 
three  hours  after  breakfast?" 

"  But,  father,  there  was  no  breakfast  for  breakfast." 

"Now  I  ask  you,  Mrs.  Triplet,"  appealed  the  author. 


104  Selections  for  Meadiiig. 

"liow  I  am  to  write  comic  scenes  if  Lysimachus  and  Kox- 
alanu  here  putin  the  heavy  business  every  five  minutes  ?" 

"  Forgive  them — the  poor  things  are  hungry." 

"  Then  let  them  bo  hungry  in  another  room,"  said  the 
irritated  scribe.  "  They  slian't  cling  round  my  pen  and  par- 
alyze it  just  -when  it  is  going  to  make  all  our  fortunes;  but 
you  women,"  snapped  Triplet  the  Just,  "  have  no  consider- 
ation for  people's  feelings!  Send  them  all  to  bed — every 
man  Jack  of  them." 

Finding  the  conversation  taking  this  turn,  the  children 
raised  a  unanimous  howl. 

Triplet  darted  a  fierce  glance  at  them. 

"  Hungry!  hungry!"  cried  he,  "  is  that  a  proper  expres- 
sion to  use  before  a  father  who  is  sitting  down  here  all 
gayety" — scratching  wildly  with  his  pen — "and  hilarity — 
to  write  a  com — comedy — "  he  choked  a  moment,  and  then 
in  a  very  different  tone,  all  sadness  and  tenderness,  he  said, 
"  Where's  the  youngest?  Where's  Lucy?  As  if  I  didn't 
know  you  were  hungry!" 

Lucy  came  to  him  directly.  He  took  her  on  his  knee, 
pressed  her  gently  to  his  side  and  wrote  silently. 

"  Father,"  said  Lucy,  aged  five,  the  germ  of  a  woman, 
"  I  am  not  so  very  hungry." 

"  And  I'm  not  hungry  at  all,"  said  bluff  Lysimachus, 
taking  his  sister's  cue,  and  then  going  upon  his  own  tack  he 
added,  ''I  had  agreat  piece  of  bread  and  butter  yesterday." 

"  Play  us  a  tune  on  the  fiddle,  father,"  said  Lucy. 

"  Aye,  do,  husband.  That  helps  you  often  in  your 
writing." 

Lysimachus  brought  the  fiddle,  and  Triplet  essayed  a 
merry  tune;  but  it  came  out  so  doleful  that  he  shook  his 
head  and  laid  the  instrument  down. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  let  us  be  serious  and  finish  this  comedy 


/Selections  for  Reading.  105 

-      -  -  ^*  — - 

slap  off.  Perha])S  it  hitches  because  I  forgot  to  invoke  the 
comic  muse.  She  must  be  a  black-hearted  jade  if  she 
doesn't  come  with  merry  notions  to  a  poor  devil,  starving 
in  the  midst  of  his  starving  little  ones." 

*'  We  are  past  help  from  heathen  goddesses,"  said  the 
woman.  "  We  must  pray  to  Heaven  to  look  down  upon  us 
and  our  children." 

The  man  looked  up  with  a  very  bad  expression  on  his 
countenance. 

"  You  forget,"  said  he,  sullenly.  *'  Oiir  street  is  very 
narrow  and  the  opposite  houses  are  very  high." 

"James!" 

"  How  can  Heaven  be  expected  to  see  what  honest  folk 
endure  in  such  a  hole  as  this?"  cried  the  man  fiercely. 

"  James!"  said  the  woman  with  fear  and  sorrow,  '*  what 
words  are  these  ?" 

The  man  rose  and  flung  his  pen  upon  the  floor. 

*'  Have  we  given  honesty  a  fair  trial — yes  or  no?" 

*'  No,"  said  the  woman  without  a  moment's  hesitation, 
"  not  till  we  die  as  we  have  lived.  Children,"  said  she,  lest 
perchance  her  husband's  words  should  have  harmed  their 
young  souls,  "  the  sky  is  above  the  earth,  and  Heaven  is 
higher  than  the  sky,  and  Heaven  is  just." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  so,"  said  the  man,  a  little  cowed  by  her. 
"  Everybody  says  so,  but  I  can't  see  it;  I  want  to  see  it,  but 
I  can't,"  cried  he  fiercel}^  "  Have  my  children  offended 
Heaven?  They  will  starve!  They  will  die!  If  I  was 
Heaven  I  would  be  just  and  send  an  angel  to  take  these 
children's  part.  They  cried  to  me  for  bread — I  had  no 
bread,  so  I  gave  them  hard  words.  The  moment  I  had 
done  that  I  knew  it  was  all  over.  God  knows  it  took  a 
long  while  to  break  my  heart,  but  it  is  broken  at  last — quite, 
quite  broken!" 


106  Selections  for  Reading, 

The  poor  man  laid  liis  liead  upon  the  table  and  sobbed 
beyond  all  power  of  restraint.  The  children  cried  round 
him,  scarce  knowing  wh}',  and  Mrs.  Tri})lct  could  only 
say,  "  My  poor  husband!"  and  prayed  and  wept  upon  the 
couch  where  she  lay. 

It  "was  at  this  juncture  that  a  lady  who  had  knocked 
gently,  and  unheard,  opened  the  door  and  witli  a  light  step 
entered  the  apartment. 

"  Wasn't  somebody  inquiring  for  an  angel  just  now? 
Here  I  am!     See,  Mr.  Triplet!" 

"  Mrs.  Woffington,"  said  Triplet,  rising  and  introducing 
her  to  his  wife.  Mrs.  Woffington  planted  herself  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  and  with  a  comical  glance,  setting  her 
arms  akimbo,  uttered  a  shrill  whistle. 

"  Now  you  will  see  another  angel — there  are  two  sorts  of 
them." 

Her  black  servant  Pompey  came  in  with  a  basket.  She 
took  it  from  him. 

"  I  heard  that  you  were  ill,  ma'am,  and  I  have  brought 
you  some  medicine  from  Burgundy.  Mrs.  Triplet,  will  you 
allow  me  to  eat  my  luncheon  with  you?  I  am  very  hungry." 
Turning  towards  Pomi)cy  she  sent  him  out  for  a  pie  which 
she  professed  she  had  fallen  in  love  with  at  the  corner  of 
the  street. 

"  Mother,"  said  AlcibiadeSj  ''  will  the  lady  give  me  a  bit 
of  her  pie?" 

*'  Hush!  you  rude  boy!"  cried  the  mother. 

"  She  is  not  much  of  a  lady  if  she  does  not,"  cried  Mrs. 
Woffington.  "Eat  away,  children.  Now's  your  time! 
When  once  I  begin  the  pie  will  soon  end," 

Lucy  said  gravely,  "The  lady  is  very  funft}-.  Do  you 
ever  cry,  pretty  lady?" 

"  Oh,  of  course  not,"  ironically. 


Selections  for  Reading.  107 


"  Comedy  is  crying,"  said  Lucy,  confidentially.  "Father 
cried  all  the  time  he  was  writing  his  one." 

Triplet  turned  red  as  fire. 

**  Hold  your  tongue!"  said  he.  "I  was  bursting  with 
merriment.  Wife,  our  children  talk  too  much;  they  put 
their  noses  iuto  everything  and  criticise  their  own  father. 
And  when  they  take  up  a  notion,  Socrates  couldn't  con- 
vince them  to  the  contrary.  For  instance,  Madame,  all  this 
morning  they  thought  fit  to  assume  that  they  were  starving." 

"  So  we  were,"  said  Lysimachus,  "till  the  angel  came 
and  then  sent  out  for  a  pie." 

"  There — there — there — now  you  mark  my  words,"  said 
Triplet.  "  We  shall  never  get  that  idea  out  of  their 
heads — " 

"Until,"  said  Mrs.  Woifiiigton,  putting  another  huge 
piece  of  pie  into  Roxalana's  plate,  "  avc  put  a  very  different 
idea  into  their  stomachs."  This  and  the  look  she  cast 
upon  Mrs.  Triplet  fairly  caught  that  good  though  somber 
personage.  She  giggled,  put  her  hand  to  her  face  and  said, 
"  I'm  sure  I  ask  your  pardon,  ma'am." 

It  was  no  use.  The  comedian  had  determined  that  they 
should  all  laugh  and  they  were  made  to  laugh.  Their  first 
feeling  was  wonder.  Were  they  the  same  who  ten  minutes 
ago  were  weeping  together?  Yes!  Ten  minutes  ago  they 
were  raylcss,  joyless,  hopeless.  Now  the  sun  was  in  their 
hearts,  and  sighing  and  sorrow  had  fled  away.  It  was 
magical!  Could  a  mortal  play  upon  the  soul  of  man, 
woman,  and  child  like  this?  Happy  Mrs.  Woffington!  And 
suppose  this  was  more  than  half  acting,  but  such  acting  as 
Triplet  never  dreamed  of?  If  it  were  art,  glory  to  such  art 
so  worthily  ajiplied,  and  honor  to  such  creatures  as  this, 
that  come  like  sunshine  into  poor  men's  homes,  and  turn 
drooping  hearts  to  happiness  and  hope. — Peg  Woffington. 


THE   NOBILITY   OF  LABOR. 
Thomas  Caklyle. 

Two  men  I  lionor,  and  no  third.  First  the  toilworn 
Craftsman  that  with  earth-made  Implement  hiboriously  con- 
quers the  Earth  and  makes  her  man's.  Venerable  to  me  is 
the  hard  hand,  crooked,  coarse;  wherein,  notwithstanding, 
lies  a  cunning  Tirtue,  indefeasibly  royal,  as  of  the  Scepter 
of  this  Planet.  Venerable,  too,  is  the  rugged  face,  all 
weather-tanned,  besoiled,  with  its  rude  intelligence,  for  it 
is  the  face  of  a  Man  living  manlike.  Oh,  but  the  more 
venerable  for  thy  rudeness,  and  even  because  we  must  pity 
as  well  as  love  thee!  Hardly  entreated  brother!  For  us 
was  thy  back  so  bent;  for  us  Avere  thy  straight  limbs  and 
fingers  so  deformed;  thou  Avert  our  Conscript,  on  Avhom  the 
lot  fell,  and  fighting  our  battles  wert  so  man-ed.  For  in 
thee,  too,  lay  a  god-created  Form,  but  it  was  not  to  be  un- 
folded; inonjsted  i^i^  it  staM  Avith  the  thick  adliesions 
and  defacements  of  Labor,  and  thy  body  like  thy  soul  Avas 
not  to  know  freedom.  Yet  toil  on,  toil  on;  thou  art  in  thy 
duty,  be  out  of  it  who  may;  thou  toilest  for  the  altogether 
indispensable — for  daily  bread. 

A  second  man  I  honor,  and  still  more  highly;  Him  who 
is  seen  toiling  for  the  spiritually  indispensable,  not  daily 
bread,  but  the  bread  of  life.  Is  not  he,  too,  m  his  duty; 
endeavoring  toAvards  inward  Harmony;  revealing  this  by 
act  or  by  Avord,  through  all  his  outward  endeavors,  be  they 
high  or  loAV?  Highest  of  all,  Avhen  his  outward  and  iuAvard 
endeavor  are  one;  Avhen  we  can  name  him  Artist,  not 
earthly  Craftsman  only,  but  inspired  Thinker,  Avho  Avith 
heaven-made  Implement  conquers  Heaven  for  us.  If  the 
poor  and  humble  toil  that  we  may  have  food,  must  not  the 


high  and  glorious  toil  ior  him  in  return,  that  he  have  Light, 
have  Guidance,  Freedom,  and  Immortality?  These  two  in 
all  their  degrees  I  honor;  all  else  is  chaff  and  dust,  which 
let  the  wind  blow  whither  it  listest. 

Unspeakably  touching  is  it,  however,  when  I  find  both 
dignities  united;  and  he  that  must  toil  outwardly  for  the 
lowest  ol  man's  wants,  is  also  toiling  inwardly  for  the 
highest.  Sublinier  in  this  world  know  I  nothing  than  a 
Peasant  Saint,  could  such  now  anywhere  be  met  with.  Such 
a  one  will  take  thee  back  to  Nazareth  itself;  thou  wilt  see 
the  splendor  of  Heaven  spring  forth  from  the  humblest 
depths  of  Earth,  like  a  light  shining  in  great  darkness. 

It  is  not  because  of  his  toils  that  I  lament  for  the  poor. 
We  must  all  toil  or  steal  (howsoever  we  name  our  stealing), 
which  is  Avorse;  no  faithful  workman  finds  his  task  a  pas- 
time. The  poor  is  hungry  and  athirst;  but  for  him  also 
there  is  food  and  drink;  he  is  heavy-laden  and  weary;  but 
for  him  also  the  Heavens  send  Sleep  and  of  the  deepest;  in 
his  smoky  cribs,  a  clear,  dewy  heaA-en  of  Rest  envelops  him, 
and  fitful  glitterings  of  cloud-skirted  Dreams.  But  what  I 
do  mourn  over  is,  that  the  lamp  of  his  soul  should  go  out; 
that  no  ray  of  heavenly,  or  even  of  earthly  knowledge, 
should  visit  him;  but  only  in  the  haggard  darkness,  like 
two  specters.  Fear  and  Indignation  bear  him  company. 
Alas!  while  the  Body  stands  so  broad  and  brawny,  must  the 
Soul  lie  blinded,  dwarfed,  stupefied,  almost  annihilated? 
Alas!  was  this  too  a  Breath  of  God;  bestowed  in  heaven, 
but  on  earth  never  to  be  unfolded?  That  there  should  one 
Man  die  ignorant  who  had  capacity  for  knowledge,  this  I 
call  a  tragedy,  were  it  to  happen  more  than  twenty  times  in 
the  minute,  as  by  some  computation  it  dpes. — Sartor  Re- 
sartuS. 


110  Selections  for  Heading. 

ABRAHAM  DAVEXPORT. 

John  G.  Whittier. 

In  the  old  daj's  (a  custom  laid  aside 

Witli  breeches  and  cocked  hats)  the  people  sent 

Their  wisest  nieu  to  make  the  public  laws. 

And  so  from  a  brown  homesteiid  where  the  Sound 

Drinks  the  small  tribute  of  the  Mianas, 

Waved  over  by  the  woods  of  Rippowams, 

And  liallowed  by  pure  lives  and  tranquil  deaths, 

Stamford  sent  to  the  Councils  of  the  State 

Wisdom  and  grace  in  Abraham  Davenport. 

'Twas  on  a  Maj^-day  of  the  far  old  year 

Seventeen  hundred  eighty,  that  there  fell 

Over  the  bloom  and  sweet  life  of  the  Spring, 

Over  the  fresh  earth  and  the  heaven  of  noon, 

A  horror  of  great  darkness,  like  Ihe  night 

In  day  of  which  the  Norland  sages  tell; — 

The  Twilight  of  the  Gods.     The  low-hung  sky 

Was  black  with  ominous  clouds,  save  where  its  rim 

Was  fringed  with  a  dull  glow,  like  that  whicli  climbs 

The  crater's  sides  from  the  red  hell  below. 

Birds  ceased  to  sing,  and  all  the  barnyaid  fowls 

Roosted;  the  cattle  at  the  pasture  bars 

Lowed  and  looked  homeward.     Bats  on  leathern  -wings 

Flitted  abroad;  the  sounds  of  labor  died; 

Men  prayed  and  women  wept;  all  ears  grew  sharp 

To  hear  the  doom-blast  of  the  trumpet  shatter 

The  black  sky,  that  the  dreadful  face  of  Christ 

IVIight  look  from  the  rent  clouds,  not  as  he  looked 

A  loving  guest  at  Bethany,  but  stern 

As  Justice  and  inexorable  Law. 

Meanwhile  in  the  old  State  House,  dim  as  ghosts 
Sat  th(!  law-givers  of  Connecticut, 
Trembling  beneath  their  legislative  robes. 


Selections  for  Reading.  11 1 


'  It  is  llie  Lord's  Great  Day!    Let  us  adjourn  I " 
Some  said;  and  then,  as  if  witli  one  accord 
All  eyes  were  turned  to  Abi'aliara  Davenport. 
He  rose,  slow  cleaving  with  his  steady  voice 
The  intolerable  hush.     "  Tins  well  may  be 
The  Day  of  Judgment  which  the  world  awaits; 
But  be  it  so  or  not,  I  only  know 
My  present  duty  and  my  Lord's  command 
To  occupy  till  He  come.     So  at  the  post 
Where  He  has  set  me  in  His  providence, 
I  choose,  for  one,  to  meet  Him  face  to  face, — ■ 
No  faitldess  servant  frightened  from  my  task, 
But  ready  when  the  Lord  of  the  harvest  calls; 
And  therefore,  with  all  reverence,  I  would  say, 
Let  God  do  His  work,  we  will  see  to  ours. 
Bring  in  the  candles."     And  they  brought  them  in. 

Then  by  the  flaring  lights  the  Speaker  read, 
Albeit  with  husky  voice  and  shaking  hands. 
An  act  to  amend  an  act  to  regulate 
The  shad  and  alewive  fisheries.     Whereupon 
Wisely  and  well  spake  Abraham  Davenport 
Straight  to  the  question,  Avith  no  figures  of  speech 
Save  the  ten  Arab  signs,  yet  not  without 
The  shrewd,  dry  humor  natural  to  the  man. 
His  awe-struck  colleagues  listening  all  the  while, 
Between  the  pauses  of  his  argument. 
To  hear  the  thunder  of  the  wrath  of  God 
Break  from  the  hollow  trumpet  of  the  cloud. 
And  th(!re  he  stands  in  memo-y  to  this  day. 
Erect,  self- poised,  a  rugged  face,  lialf  seen 
Against  the  background  of  unnatural  dark, 
A  witness  to  the  ages  as  they  pass 
That  simple  duty  h^th  no  place  for  fear. 


1 12  Selections  for  Reading. 


LEFT   ASHORE. 

Harriet  Prescott  Spofford. 

Softly  it  stole  up  out  of  the  sea, 
The  day  that  brought  my  dole  to  me; 
Slowly  into  the  star-sown  gray 
Dim  and  dappled  it  soared  away. 
Who  would  have  dreamed  such  tender  light 
Was  brimming  over  with  bale  and  blight? 
Wlio  would  have  dreamed  that  titful  breeze 
Fanned  from  the  tumult  of  tossing  seas? 
Oh,  softly  and  slowlj'  stole  up  from  the  sea 
The  day  that  brought  my  dole  to  me. 

Glad  was  I  at  the  open  door, 

While  my  footfall  lingered  along  the  floor. 

For  three  bright  heads  at  that  dawn  of  day 

Close  on  the  self-same  pillow  lav; 

Three  dear  mouths  I  bent  and  kissed 

As  the  gold  and  rose  and  amethyst 

Of  the  eastern  sky  was  round  us  spread; 

And  three  little  happy  faces  sped 

To  the  dancing  boat, — and  he  Avent  too — 

And  lightly  the  wind  that  morning  blew. 

Many  a  time  had  one  and  all 

Gone  out  before  to  the  deep-sea  haul, 

Many  a  time  come  rowing  back 

Against  the  tide  of  tlie  Merrimack, 

With  shining  freight  and  a  reddening  sail 

Flapping  loose  in  tiie  idle  gale; 

While  over  tlicm  faded  tiie  evening  glow. 

With  stars  above  and  with  stars  below, 

Trolling  and  laugliiiig  a  welcome  din 

To  me  and  the  warm  siiore  making  in. 


Selections  for  Reading.  113 

Then  why,  that  day,  as  I  watched  the  boat. 

Did  I  remember  the  midnij^ht  rote 

That  rolled  a  signal  across  my  sleep 

Of  the  storm  tliat  rolled  from  deep  to  deep. 

Plunging  along  in  its  eager  haste 

Across  the  desert  and  desolate  waste, 

Far  off  throiigii  the  heart  of  the  gray  )nid  seas 

To  rob  me  forever  of  all  my  easel' 

Oh,  1  know  not;  I  only  know 

That  soimd  was  the  warning  of  my  woe. 

For  lo,  as  1  looked,  I  saw  the  mist 
Over  the  channel  curl  and  twist. 
And  blot  the  breaker  out  of  sight 
Where  its  angry  horn  gored  the  waters  white. 
Only  a  sea-lui  n,  I  heard  them  say. 
That  the  climbing  sun  will  burn  away; 
But  I  saw  it  silently  settling  down 
Like  an  ashen  pall  ujion  the  town. 
"  Oh,  hush!"  I  cried;  "  'tis  some  huge  storm's  rack, 
And  I  know  my  darlings  will  never  come  back." 

All  day  I  stood  on  the  old  sea-wall 

Watching  the  great  swell  rise  and  fall. 

And  the  spume  and  spray  drove  far  and  thin. 

But  never  a  sail  came  staggering  in. 

And  out  of  the  east  a  wet  wind  blew. 

And  over  my  hejid  tiie  foam-flakes  flew; 

Down  came  the  night  without  a  star; 

Loud  was  the  cry  of  the  raging  bar; 

And  I  wrung  my  hands  and  called  and  pra^'ed, 

And  the  black,  wild  east  all  answer  made. 

Oh,  long  ere  the  cruel  night  was  done 

Came  the  muffled  toll  of  the  minute  gun. 

Nothing  it  meant  to  me,  I  knew, 

Save  that  other  women  were  waiting  too. 

For  many  the  craft  that  cast  away 

On  the  shoals  of  the  long  Plum  Island  lay, 


114  Selections  for  Reading. 

Wrecked  and  naked,  a  hungry  horde 
Of  fierce  wliite  surges  leaping  aboard, 
And  bale  and  bundle  came  up  from  the  sea, 
But  nothing  ever  came  back  to  me. 

And  through  every  pool  where  the  full  tides  toss 

I  search  for  some  lock  of  curling  floss. 

Yet  still  in  my  window,  night  by  night, 

The  little  candle  is  burning  bright. 

For,  oh,  if  I  suddenly  turned  to  meet 

My  darling  coming  with  flying  feet, 

While  I,  iu  the  place  they  left  me,  sat,  • 

No  greater  marvel  'twould  be  than  that 

When  so  softly,  slowly  stole  up  from  the  sea 

The  day  that  brought  my  dole  to  me. 


OUR  NEW   LIVERY,  AND   OTHER  THINGS. 
Geo.  Wm.  Curtis. 

My  Dear  Caroline: — Lent  came  so  friglitfully  early 
this  year  that  I  was  Tcry  much  afraid  my  new  bonnet  would 
not  be  out  from  Paris  soon  enough.  But  fortunately  it 
arrived  just  in  time,  and  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  taking 
down  the  pride  of  Mrs.  Croesus,  who  fancied  hers  Avould  be 
the  only  stylish  hat  in  church  the  first  Sunday.  She  could 
not  liecp  her  eyes  away  from  me,  and  I  sat  so  unmoved,  and 
so  calmly  looking  at  the  Doctor,  that  she  was  quite  vexed. 
But  whenever  she  turned  away  I  ran  my  eyes  over  the  whole 
congregation,  and — would  you  l)elicve  it? — almost  without 
an  exception  people  had  on  their  old  things!  However,  I 
suppose  they  forgot  liow  soon  Lent  was  coming. 

I've  so  many  things  to  tell  you  that  I  hardly  know  where 
to  begin.     The  great  thing  is  the  livery,  but  I  want  to  come 


Selections  for  Reading.  115 

regularly  up  to  that  and  forget  nothing  by  the  way.  I  was 
uncertain  for  a  long  time  how  to  have  my  prayer-book 
bound.  Finally  after  thiiiking  about  it  a  great  deal  I  con- 
cluded to  have  it  done  in  pale  blue  velvet  with  gold  clasps 
and  a  gold  cross  upon  the  side.  To  be  sure  it's  nothing 
very  new.  But  what  is  new  nowadays?  Sally  Shrimp  has 
had  hers  done  in  emerald,  and  I  know  Mrs.  Croesus  will 
have  crimson  for  hers,  and  those  people  who  sit  next  us  in 
church  have  a  kind  of  morocco  binding.  I  must  tell  you 
one  reason  why!  fixed  upon  the  pale  blue.  You  knew  that 
aristocratic  young  man  in  white  cravat  and  black  pantaloons 
and  waistcoat  whom  we  saw  at  Saratoga  a  year  ago,  and 
who  always  had  such  a  beautiful  sanctimonious  look  and 
such  small  white  hands.  Well,  he  is  a  minister,  as  we  sup- 
posed, "an  unworthy  candidate,  an  nnprotitable  husband- 
man," as  he  calls  himself  in  that  delicious  voice  of  his.  He 
has  been  quite  taken  up  among  us.  He  has  been  asked  a 
good  deal  to  dinner,  and  there  was  talk  of  his  being  settled 
as  colleague  to  the  Doctor. 

Well,  I  told  him  that  I  wished  to  take  his  advice  upon 
something  connected  with  the  church.  When  I  asked  him 
in  what  velvet  he  would  advise  me  to  have  my  prayer-book 
bound,  he  talked  beautifully  for  about  twenty  minutes.  I 
wish  you  could  have  heard  him.  I'm  not  sure  that  1  un- 
derstood much  of  what  he  said,  but  it  was  very  beautiful. 
Well,  by  and  by  he  said,  "  Therefore,  dear  Mrs.  Potiphar, 
as  your  faith  is  so  pure  and  childlike,  and  as  I  observe  that 
the  light  from  the  yellow  panes  usually  falls  across  your 
pew,  I  would  advise  that  you  symbolize  your  faith  by  bind- 
ing your  prayer-book  in  pale  blue,  the  color  of  skim  milk, 
dear  Mrs.  Potiphar,  which  is  so  full  of  pastoral  associations." 

What  gossips  we  women  are  to  be  sure!  I  meant  to  write 
you  about  our  new  livery,  and  I'm  afraid  I  have  tired  you 


116  Selections  for  Reading. 


out  already.  You  remember  when  you  were  here  I  said 
that  I  meant  to  have  a  livery;  for  my  sister  Margaret  told 
me  that  when  they  used  to  drive  in  Hyde  Park  with  the 
old  Marquis  of  Mammon  it  was  always  so  delightful  to  hear 
him  say, 

"  Ah!  there  is  Lady  Lobster's  livery!" 

I  told  the  Reverend  Cream  Cheese  that  as  he  had  already 
assisted  me  in  colors  once,  I  should  be  most  glad  to  have 
him  do  so  again.  What  a  time  we  had,  to  be  sure,  talking 
of  colors  and  cloths  and  gaiters  and  buttons  and  knee- 
breeches  and  waistcoats  and  plush  and  coats  and  lace  and 
hatbands  and  gloves  and  cravats  and  cords  and  tassels  and 
hats!     Oh,  it  was  delightful. 

I  determined  to  have  red  plush  breeches,  with  a  black 
cord  at  the  side,  white  stockings,  low  shoes  with  large 
buckles,  a  yellow  waistcoat  with  large  buttons,  lappels  to 
the  pockets  and  a  purple  coat  very  full  and  line,  bound  with 
gold  lace,  and  the  hat  banded  with  a  full  gold  rosette. 
Don't  you  think  tliat  would  look  well  in  Hyde  Park?  And 
why  shouldn't  we  have  in  Broadway  wliat  they  have  in 
Hyde  Park? 

So  now,  Caroline  dear,  I  have  my  livery  and  my  footman, 
and  am  as  good  as  anybody.  It's  very  splendid  when  I  go  to 
Stewart's  to  have  the  red  plush  and  the  purple  and  the 
white  calves  springing  down  to  open  the  door,  and  to  see 
people  look  and  say,  "  I  wonder  who  that  is!"  And  every- 
body bows  so  nicely,  and  the  clerks  are  so  polite,  and  ]\Irs. 
Gnu  is  melting  with  envy  on  the  other  side,  and  Mrs. 
Settum  Downe  says,  "Is  that  the  Potiphar  livery?  Ah, 
yes,  Mr.  Potiphar's  grandfather  used  to  shoe  my  grand- 
father's horses."  Then  I  step  out  and  James  throws  open 
the  door,  and  the  young  men  raise  their  hats  and  the  new 
crowd  savs,  "  I  wonder  who  that  is!''  and  the  jilush  and 


Selections  for  Reading.  117 

the  purple  and  the  calves  spring  up  belli nd  and  I  drive  home 
to  dinner. 

Now,  Carrie,  dear,  isn't  that  nice?  Well,  I  don't  know 
how  it  is,  but  things  are  so  queer.  Sometimes  when  I  wake 
up  in  the  morning  in  my  room,  which  I  have  had  tapestried 
with  fluted  rose  silk,  and  lie  thinking,  under  the  lace  cur- 
tains; although  I  may  have  been  to  one  of  Mrs.  Gnu's 
splendid  parties  the  night  before,  and  am  going  to  Mrs. 
Silkes  to  dinner,  and  to  Mrs.  Settum  Downe's  and  the  opera 
in  the  evening,  and  have  nothing  to  do  all  day  but  go  to 
Stewart's  and  shop  and  pay  morning  calls, — do  you  know, 
as  I  say,  that  sometimes  I  hear  an  old  familiar  tune  played 
upon  a  hand  organ  far  away  in  some  street,  and  it  seems  to 
me  in  that  half-drowsy  state  under  the  laces  that  I  hear 
the  boys  and  girls  singing  it  in  the  fields  where  we  used  to 
play. 

I  doze  again  until  Adele  comes  in  and  opens  the  shutters. 
I  do  not  hear  the  music  any  more,  but  those  days  I  do  some- 
times seem  to  hear  it  all  the  time.  Of  course  Mr.  Potiphar 
is  gone  long  before  I  wake,  so  he  knows  nothing  of  all  this. 
I  generally  come  in  at  night  after  he  is  asleep,  and  he  goes 
down  town  before  I  wake  in  the  morning.  He  comes  home 
to  dinner,  but  he  is  apt  to  be  silent;  and  after  dinner  he 
takes  his  nap  in  the  parlor  over  his  newspaper,  while  I  go 
up  and  let  Adele  dress  my  hair  for  the  evening.  So  I  don't 
see  a  great  deal  of  him  except  in  the  summer  when  T  am  at 
Saratoga  or  Newport;  and  then  not  so  much,  after  all,  for 
he  usually  comes  only  to  pass  Sunday,  and  I  must  be  a' 
good  Christian  you  know  and  go  to  church.  On  the  whole 
we  have  not  a  very  intimate  acquaintance,  but  I  have  a 
great  respect  for  him.  He  told  me  the  other  day  that  he 
should  make  at  least  thirty  thousand  dollars  this  year. 

I  am  very  sorry  I  can't  write  you  a  longer  letter.     I  want 


118  Selections  for  Reading. 

to  consult  you  about  wearing  gold  powder  like  the  new 
empress.  It  would  kill  Mrs.  Croesus  if  you  and  I  should 
be  the  first  to  come  out  in  it;  and  don't  you  think  the  effect 
would  be  fine  when  we  were  dancing,  to  shower  the  gold 
mist  around  us?  How  it  would  sparkle  on  the  gentlemen's 
black  coats.  Our  little  Fred  is  down  with  scarlet  fever.  I 
hope  it  won't  spoil  his  complexion.  I  don't  go  into  the 
room,  but  the  nurse  tells  me  through  the  keyhole  how  he 
is.     I  have  a  thousand  things  to  say,  but  I  know  you  must 

be  tired  to  death. 

Fondly  yours, 

Polly  Potiphar. 

— A  letter  from  Mrs.  Potiphar  to  a  friend  in  PaiHs. 


TO-DAY  AND   TO-MORROW. 
Gekald  Massey. 

High  hopes  tliat  burii'd  like  stars  stihlime, 

Go  down  i'  the  heavens  of  freedom; 
And  true  liearts  perish  in  the  time 

We  bitterliest  need  'em! 
But  never  sit  we  down  and  say, 

Tiiere's  nothintr  left  but  sorrow: 
We  walk  the  wilderness  to-day — 

The  promised  land  to-morrow! 

Our  birds  of  song  are  silent  now, 

Tiiere  are  no  flowers  blooming. 
Yet  life  holds  in  the  frozen  bough, 

And  freedom's  sprini:-  is  coming; 
And  freedom's  tide  comes  up  ahvay, 

Though  we  may  strand  in  sorrow: 
And  our  good  bark,  aground  to-day, 

Shall  float  again  to-morrow. 


\ 


Selections  for  Heading. 


119 


Through  all  the  long,  long  night  of  years 

The  people's  cry  ascendeth, 
And  earth  is  wet  with  blood  and  tears; 

But  our  meek  suffering  endeth! 
The  few  shall  not  forever  sway — 

The  many  moil  in  sorrow ; 
The  powers  of  hell  are  strong  to-day. 

But  Christ  shall  rise  to-morrow ! 

Though  hearts  brood  o'er  the  past,  our  eyes 

With  smiling  futures  glisten! 
For  lo !  our  day  bursts  up  the  skies — 

Lean  out  your  souls  and  listen! 
Tlie  world  rolls  freedom's  radiant  way. 

And  ripens  with  her  sorrow; 
Keep  heart !  who  bear  the  Cross  to-day, 

Shall  wear  the  Crown  to-morrow! 

O  youth,  flame-earnest,  still  aspire 

With  energies  immortal! 
To  many  a  heaven  of  desire 

Our  yearning  opes  a  portal; 
And  though  age  wearies  by  the  way, 

And  hearts  break  in  the  furi-ow,  ' 

We'll  sow  the  golden  grain  to-day — 

The  harvest  reap  to-morrow  1 


Build  up  heroic  lives,  and  all 

Be  like  a  shealhen  saber, 
Ready  to  flash  out  at  God's  call — 

O  chivalry  of  labor! 
Triumph  and  toil  are  twins;  and  aye 

Joy  suns  the  cloud  of  sorrow. 
And  'tis  the  martyrdom  today 

Brings  victory  to-morrow! 


120  Selections  for  Reading. 

THE   MEMBRANEOUS   CROUP. 
Mark  Twain. 

When  that  friglitful  and  incurable  disease  mcnibraneous 
croup  was  ravaging  the  town  and  driving  all  mothers  mad 
with  terror,  I  called  Mrs.  McWilliams's  attention  to  little 
Penelope  and  said,    • 

'•'  Darling,  I  wouldn't  let  that  child  chew  that  pine  stick 
if  I  Avere  you."' 

"  Precious,  Avhere  is  the  harm  in  it?"  said  she,  but  at  the 
same  time  preparing  to  take  away  the  stick.     I  replied, 

"  Love,  it  is  notorious  that  pine  is  the  least  nutritious 
wood  that  a  child  can  eat." 

My  wife's  hand  paused  in  the  act  of  taking  the  stick.  She 
bridled  perceptibly  and  said: 

"■  Hubby,  you  know  better  than  that.  You  know  you 
do.  Doctors  all  say  that  the  turpentine  in  pine  wood  is 
good  for  a  weak  back  and  the  kidneys." 

"  Ah.  I  did  not  know  that  the  child's  kidneys  and  s})ine 
were  affected,  and  that  the  family  i^hysician  had  recom- 
mended— " 

"  Who  said  the  child's  spine  and  kidneys  were  atTected?" 

"  My  love,  you  intimated  it," 

"  The  idea!     I  never  intimated  anything  of  the  kind." 

"  Why,  my  dear,  it  hasn't  been  two  miinUes  since  you 
said—" "        " 

"  I  don't  care  what  I  said.  There  isn't  any  harm  in  the 
child's  chewing  a  bit  of  pine  stick  if  she  wants  to.  and  you 
know  it  perfectly  well.  And  she  shall  chew  it,  too.  So 
there,  now!" 

"  Say  no  more,  my  dear.  I  now  see  the  force  of  your 
reasoning,  and  I  will  go  and  order  two  or  three  cords  of  the 


Selections  for  Heading.  121 

best  pine  wood  to-day.  No  child  of  mine  shall  want,  while 
I—" 

*'  Oh,  please  go  along  to  your  office  and  let  me  have  some 
peace.  A  body  can  never  make  the  simplest  remark,  but 
you  must  take  it  up  and  go  to  arguing  and  arguing  and 
arguing  till  you  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about, 
and  you  never  do!" 

"Very  well.  It  shall  be  as  you  say.  But  there  is  a 
want  of  logic  in  your  last  remark  which — " 

However  she  was  gone  with  a  flourish  before  I  could 
finish,  and  had  taken  the  child  with  her.  That  night  siie 
confronted  me  with  a  face  as  white  as  a  sheet. 

'*  0  Mortimer,  there's  another!  Little  Georgie  Gordon 
is  taken!" 

"  Membraneous  croup?" 

"  Membraneous  croup." 

"  Is  there  any  hope  for  him?" 

"  None  in  the  wide  world!    Oh,  what  is  to  become  of  us?" 

By  and  by  the  nurse  brought  in  our  Penelope  to  say  good- 
night, and  she  gave  a  slight  cough.  My  wife  fell  back  like 
one  strickc.'i  with  death,  but  the  next  nioment  she  was  up 
and  brimming  with  the  activities  Avhich  terror  inspires. 

She  commanded  that  the  child's  crib  be  removed  from 
the  nursery  to  our  bedroom,  and  she  went  along  to  see  the 
order  executed.  She  took  mo  with  her  of  course.  We  ar- 
ranged matters  speedily.  A  cot  bed  was  put  up  in  my 
wife's  flressing-room  for  the  nurse,  but  now  Mrs.  Mc Wil- 
liams said  wo  were  too  far  away  from  the  other  baby,  and 
what  if  he,  too,  were  to  have  the  symptoms  in  the  night? 
and  she  blanched  again,  poor  thing.  We  then  restored  the 
crib  and  the  nurse  to  the  nursery,  and  })ut  up  a  bed  for  our- 
selves in  a  room  adjoining. 

Presently,  however,  Mrs.   McWilliams  said,  suppose  the 


122  Selections  for  Iteading. 

baby  should  catch  it  from  Penelope!  This  thought  struck 
a  new  panic  to  her  heart,  and  the  whole  tribe  of  us  could 
not  get  the  crib  out  of  the  nursery  again  fast  enough  to 
satisfy  my  wife,  though  she  assisted  in  her  own  person,  and 
well  nigh  pulled  the  crib  to  pieces  in  her  frantic  hurry. 

We  moved  down-stairs;  biit  there  was  no  place  there  to 
stow  the  nurse,  and  Mrs.  McWilliams  said  the  nurse's  ex- 
perience would  be  an  inestimable  help.  So  we  returned 
bag  and  baggage  to  our  own  bedroom  once  more,  and  felt 
a  great  gladness,  like  storm-bujffeted  birds  that  have  found 
their  nest  again. 

Mrs.  McWilliams  sped  to  the  nursery  to  see  how  things 
were  ffoincc  on  there.  She  was  back  in  a  moment  with  a 
new  dread.     She  said, 

"What  can  make  Baby  sleep  so?" 

I  said, 

"  Why,  my  darling,  Baby  always  sleeps  like  a  graven 
image." 

"  I  know,  I  know;  but  there's  something  peculiar  about 
his  sleep  now.  He  seems  to  breathe  so — so  regularly.  Oh, 
this  is  dreadful!" 

"But,  my  dear,  he  always  bi-eathes  regularly." 

"  Oh,  I  know  it,  but  there's  something  frightful  about  it 
now.  His  nurse  is  too  young  and  inexperienced.  Maria 
shall  stay  there  with  her,  and  be  on  hand  if  anything 
happens." 

*'  That's  a  good  idea,  but  who  will  help  you?" 

"  You  can  help  me  all  I  want.  I  wouldn't  allow  any- 
body but  myself  to  do  anything,  anyhow,  at  such  a  time  as 
this." 

Penelope  coughed  twice  in  her  sleep. 

*'  Oh,  why  don't  that  doctor  come!  Mortimer,  this  room 
"*  too  warm.     Turn  off  the  register,  quick!" 


Stlections  for  Reading.  128 


I  shut  it  off,  glancing  at  the  thermometer  at  tlie  same 
time,  and  wondering  if  seventy  degrees  was  too  warm  for  a 
sick  child. 

The  coachman  arrived  from  town  with  the  news  that  our 
physician  was  ill  and  confined  to  his  bed.  Mrs.  McWil- 
liams  turned  a  dead  eye  upon  me  and  said  in  a  dead  voice: 

"  There  is  a  providence  in  it.  It  is  foreordained.  He 
never  was  sick  before,  never.  We  have  not  been  living  as 
we  ought  to  live,  Mortimer.  Time  and  time  again  I  have 
told  you  so.  Now  you  see  the  result.  Our  child  will  never 
get  well.  Be  thankful  if  you  can  forgive  yourself.  I  never 
can  forgive  myself!" 

I  said,  without  intent  to  hurt,  but  with  heedless  choice 
of  words,  that  I  could  not  see  that  we  had  been  living  such 
an  abandoned  life. 

"  Mortimer  !  Do  you  want  to  bring  the  judgment  upon 
Baby  too?" 

Then  she  began  to  cry,  but  suddenly  exclaimed: 

"  The  doctor  must  have  sent  medicines!" 

"  Certainly.  They  are  here.  I  was  only  waiting  for  you 
to  give  me  a  chance." 

*'  Well,  do  give  them  to  me.  Don't  you  know  that  every 
minute  is  precious  now?  But  what  was  the  use  of  sending 
medicines  when  he  knows  that  the  disease  is  incurable?" 

I  said  that  while  there  was  life  there  was  lioi^e. 

''Hope!  Mortimer,  you  know  no  more  what  you  are 
talking  about  than  a  child  unborn.  If  you  would — as  I 
live,  the  directions  say,  give  one  teaspoonful  once  an  hour! 
Once  an  hour!  As  if  we  had  a  whole  year  before  us  to  save 
the  child  in!  Mortimer,  please  hurry!  Give  the  poor 
perishing  thing  a  tablespoonful,  and  do  try  to  be  quick!" 

"  Why  my  dear,  a  tablespoonful  might — " 

"Don't  drive  me  frantic!     Oh,  I  know  she  can't  live  till 


i'24:  Selections  for  Reading. 


moniiug!  Mortimer,  a  tablesj)Oonful  every  half  hour  will 
— oh,  the  cliild  needs  belladonna,  too,  and  aconite.  Get 
them,  Mortimer.  Xow  do  let  me  have  my  way.  You  know 
nothing  about  these  things." 

We  now  went  to  bed,  placing  the  crib  close  to  my  wife's 
pillow.  All  this  turmoil  had  worn  me  out,  and  within  two 
minutes  I  was  something  more  than  half  asleep.  Mrs.  Mc- 
Williams  roused  me. 

"Darling,  is  that  register  turned  on?" 

"No." 

"I  thought  as  much.  Please  turn  it  on  at  once.  The 
room  is  cold." 

I  turned  it  on  and  fell  asleep  again.     I  was  aroused  again. 

"  Dearie,  would  you  mind  moving  the  crib  to  your  side 
of  the  bed?     It  is  nearer  the  register." 

I  moved  it.  but  liad  a  collision  with  the  rug  and  woke  up 
the  child.  I  dozed  off  once  more  while  my  wife  quieted 
the  sufferer.  But  in  a  little  while  these  words  came  mur- 
muring remotely  through  the  fog  of  my  drowsiness: 

"  Mortimer,  if  we  only  had  some  goose-grease.     Will  you 


ring?" 


I  climbed  dreamily  out,  and  stepped  on  a  cat  which  re- 
sponded with  a  protest  and  would  have  got  a  convincing 
kick  for  it — if  a  chair  had  not  got  it  instead. 

"  Now,  Mortimer,  why  do  you  Avant  to  turn  up  the  gas 
and  wake  up  the  child  again?" 

"  Because  I  want  to  see  how  much  I  am  hurt,"  I  said. 

"  Well,  look  at  the  chair,  too.  I've  no  doubt  it's  ruined. 
Poor  cat!     I  suppose  you  had — " 

"  Now  I  am  not  going  to  suppose  Jinything  about  the 
cat.  It  never  would  have  occurred  if  ]\raria  had  been  here 
to  attend  to  these  duties.  Avhich  are  in  her  line,  not  mine." 

"Now,  Mortimer,  1  should  think  vou  would  be  ashamed 


Selections  for  Readinr/^  125 

to  make  a  remark  like  that.  It  is  a  pity  if  you  can't  do 
the  few  little  things  I  ask  of  yon  at  such  an  awfnl  time  as 
this,  when  our  child  is — " 

"  There,  there,  I'll  do  anything  you  want.  But  I  can't 
raise  anybody  witli  this  boll.  They  are  all  gone  to  bed. 
Where  is  the  goose-grease?" 

*'  On  the  mantelpiece  in  the  nursery.  If  you'll  step  there 
and  speak  to  Maria — " 

I  fetched  the  goose-grease  and  went  to  sleep  again.  Once 
more  I  was  called. 

"  Mortimer,  I  so  hate  to  disturb  you,  but  this  room  is 
too  cold  to  apply  this  stuff.  Would  you  mind  lighting  the 
fire?     It's  all  ready  to  touch  a  match  to." 

I  dragged  myself  out  and  lit  the  fire,  then  sat  down  dis- 
consolate. 

*' Mortimer,  don't  sit  there  and  catch  your  death  of  cold. 
Come  to  bed." 

As  I  was  stepping  in  she  said, 

"  Wait  a  moment.  Please  give  the  child  some  more  of 
the  medicine." 

It  was  a  medicine  which  made  the  child  lively,  and  my 
wife  made  use  of  its  waking  interval  to  grease  it  all  over 
with  the  goose-oil.  I  was  asleep  once  more  before  long,  but 
once  more  I  had  to  get  up. 

"Mortimer,  I  feel  a  draft.  I  feel  it  distinctly.  There 
is  nothing  so  bad  for  this  disease  as  a  draft.  Please  move 
the  crib  in  front  of  the  fire." 

I  did  it,  and  collided  with  the  rug  again  which  I  threw 
into  the  fire.  Mrs.  McWilliams  sprang  out  of  bed  and 
rescued  it  and  we  had  some  words.  I  had  another  trifling 
interval  of  sleep,  and  then  got  up  by  request  and  con- 
structed a  flaxseed  poultice.  This  was  placed  upon  the 
child's  breast  and  left  there  to  do  its  healing  work. 


126  Selections  for  Beading. 

A  Avood  fire  is  not  a  permanent  thing.  I  got  np  every 
twenty  minutes  and  renewed  ours,  and  this  gave  Mrs.  Mc- 
Williams  the  opportunity  to  shorten  the  times  of  giving  the 
medicines  by  ten  minutes  which  was  a  great  satisfaction  to 
her.  Now  and  then,  between  times,  I  reorganized  the  flax- 
seed poultices,  and  applied  all  sorts  of  blisters  where  unoc- 
cupied places  could  be  foiud  upon  the  child.  Towards 
morning  the  wood  gave  ou'  and  my  wife  wanted  me  to  go 
down  cellar  and  get  moie.     T  >ai'd: 

''My  dear,  it  is  a  laboriou,.  ;,<ob,  and  the  child  must  be 
nearly  warm  enough  with  ;ill  her  extra  clothing.  We  might 
put  on  an  extra  layer  of  poultices  and — " 

I  did  not  finish  because  I  was  interrupted.  I  lugged  up 
wood  for  some  little  time,  then  lay  down  and  fell  to  snor- 
ing as  only  a  man  can  whose  strength  is  all  gone  and  Avhose 
soul  is  Avorn  out.  Just  at  broad  daylight  I  felt  a  grip  on 
my  shoulder  that  brought  me  to  my  senses  suddenly.  My 
wife  was  glaring  down  upon  me  and  gasping. 

''It  is  all  over!  All  over!  The  child's  i^erspiring! 
What  shall  we  do?" 

"Mercy,  how  you  terrify  me!  I  don't  know  what  we 
ought  to  do!" 

"There  is  not  a  moment  to  lose!  Go  for  the  doc- 
tor. Go  yourself.  Tell  liim  he  must  come,  dead  or 
alive!" 

I  dragged  that  poor  sick  man  from  his  bed  and  brought 
him.  He  looked  at  the  child  and  said  she  was  not  dying. 
This  was  joy  unspeakable  to  me,  but.it  made  my  wife  as 
angry  as  if  he  had  offered  her  a  personal  affront.  Then  he 
said  that  the  child's  cough  was  only  caused  by  some  trifling 
irritation  or  other  in  the  throat.  At  this  my  Avife  looked 
as  if  she  intended  to  show  him  the  door,  lie  said  he  Avould 
giA'G  her  something  tliat   Avould   make   her  dislodge   the 


Selections  for  Beading.  127 

trouble.  He  sent  her  into  a  spasm  of  coughing,  and 
presently  up  came  a  little  wood  splinter  or  two. 

"  This  child  has  no  croup,"  said  he.  "  She  has  been 
chewing  a  bit  of  i)ine  shingle  or  something  of  the  kind  and 
got  some  little  slivers  in  her  throat.  They  won't  do  her 
any  hurt." 

'"■'  No,"  said  I.  *'  Indeed  the  terpentine  in  them  is  very 
good  for  certain  kinds  of  dise  ses  that  are  peculiar  to 
children.     My  wife  will  teK  '«     i    c" 

But  she  did  not.  She  tur...  1  away  in  disdain  and  left 
the  room;  and  since  that  time  there  is  one  episode  in  our 
life  which  we  never  refer  to.  And  so  our  days  flow  by  in 
deep  and  untroubled  serenity. 


THE   GOOD   OF  IT. 

(J.  Cynic's  Song.) 
Dinah  Mulock  Craik, 

Some  men  strut  proudly,  all  purple  and  gold, 
Hiding  queer  deeds  'neath  a  cloak  of  good  fame; 

I  creep  along  braving  hunger  and  cold 
To  keep  my  heart  stainless  as  well  as  my  name. 
So,  so,  where  is  the  good  of  it? 

Some  clothe  bare  Truth  in  line  garments  of  words, 
Fetter  her  free  limbs  with  cumbersome  state. 

With  me,  let  me  sit  at  the  lordliest  boards. 

"  I  love"  means,  I  love;  and  "  I  hate"  means,  I  hate; 
But,  but,  where  is  the  good  of  it? 

Some  have  rich  dainties  and  costly  attire, 
Guests  fluttering  round  them  and  duns  at  the  door. 

I  crouch  alone  at  my  plain  board  and  fire, 
Enjoy  what  I  pay  for  and  scorn  to  have  more. 
Yet,  yet,  what  is  the  good  of  it? 


]28  Selections  for  Beading. 

Some  gather  round  I  hem  a  phalanx  of  friends, 

Scattering  afTection  like  coin  iu  a  crowd. 
I  keep  my  heart  for  the  few  Heaven  sends, 

Where  they'll  lind  my  name  writ  when  I  lie  in  my  shroud. 
Still,  still,  where  is  the  good  of  it? 

Some  toy  with  love;  ligliii}-  come,  lightly  go; 

A  blithe  game  at  hearts,  little  w^orth,  little  cost. 
I  staked  my  wliole  soul  on  one  desperate  throw, 

A  life  'gainst  an  hour's  sport.     We  played  and  I  lost. 
Hu,  ha,  such  was  the  good  of  it! 

Moral,  added  on  Ids  Death-bed. 

Turn  the  past's  mirror  backward:  its  shadows  removed, 
The  dim,  confused  mass  becomes  softened,  sublime; 

I  have  worked,  1  have  felt,  I  have  lived,  I  have  loved. 
And  each  was  a  step  towards  the  goal  I  now  climb. 
Thou,  God,  Thou  sawest  the  good  of  it! 


DOMBEY   AND   SON. 
Chari.es  Dickens. 


They  were  the  strangest  pair,  at  sucli  a  time,  that  ever 
firehght  shone  upon.  Mr.  Dombey  so  erect  and  solemn, 
gazing  at  the  bhize;  his  little  image  with  an  old,  old  face, 
peering  into  the  red  perspective  with  the  fixed  and  rapt 
attention  of  a  sage.  Mr.  Dombey  entertaining  complicated 
Avorldly  schemes  and  plans;  the  little  image  entertaining 
Heaven  knows  what  wild  fancies,-  half-formed  thoughts,  and 
Avandering  speculations.  Mr.  Dombey  stiff  with  starch  and 
arrogance,  the  little  image  by  inheritance  and  unconscious 
imitation.  The  two  so  very  much  alike  and  yet  so  mon- 
strously contrasted. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  when  thoy  had  both  been  per- 


Selections  for  Reading.  129 


fectly  quiet  for  a  long  time,  aud  Mr.  Dombey  only  knew 
the  child  was  awake  by  occasionally  glancing  at  his  eye 
where  the  bright  fire  was  sparkling  like  a  jewel,  little  Paul 
broke  silence  thus: 

"  Papa,  what's  money?" 

The  abrupt  question  had  such  immediate  reference  to 
Mr.  Dombey's  thoughts,  that  Mr.  Dombey  was  quite  dis- 
concerted. 

"What  is  money,  Paul?"  he  answered,  ''money!" 

"Yes,"  said  the  child,  laying  his  hands  upon  the  elbows 
of  his  little  chair,  and  turning  the  little  old  face  towards 
Mr.  Dombey's,  "  what  is  money?" 

Mr.  Dombey  was  in  a  difficulty.  He  would  have  liked 
to  give  him  some  explanation  involving  the  terms  circulat- 
ing-medium, currency,  depreciation  of  currency,  paper, 
bullion,  rates  of  exchange,  value  of  precious  metals  in  the 
market  and  so  forth;  but  looking  down  at  the  little  chair 
and  seeing  what  a  long  way  down  it  was,  he  answered, 
"  Gold  and  silver  and  copper,  guineas,  shillings,  half-pence. 
Yon  know  wliat  they  are?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  what  they  are,"  said  Paul,  "  I  don't 
mean  that,  papa.     I  mean,  what's  money  after  all?" 

Heaven  and  earth,  how  old  his  face  was,  as  he  turned  it 
up  again  towards  his  father's. 

"  AYliat  is  money  after  all?"  said  Mr.  Dombey,  backing 
his  chair  a  little  that  he  might  the  better  gaze  in  sheer 
amazement  at  the  presumptuous  atom  that  propounded 
such  a  question. 

"  I  mean,  papa,  what  can  it  do?"  returned  Paul,  folding 
his  arms  (they  were  hardly  long  enough  to  fold)  and  looking 
at  the  fire,  and  up  at  him,  and  at  the  fire,  and  up  at  him  again. 

Mr.  Dombey  drew  his  chair  back  to  its  former  place,  and 
patted  him  on  the  head. 


130  Selections  for  Reading. 

*' You  will  know  bettor,  by  and  by,  my  man,"  he  said. 
''Money,  Paul,  can  do  anything."  He  took  hold  of  the 
little  hand  and  beat  it  softly  against  one  of  his  own  as  he 
said  so.  But  Paul  got  his  hand  free  as  soon  as  he  could, 
and  rubbinar  it  gentlv  to  and  fro  on  the  elbow  of  his  chair, 
as  if  his  wit  were  in  the  palm  and  he  was  sharpening  it — 
and  looking  at  the  fire  again,  as  though  the  fire  had  been 
his  adviser  and  prompter,  repeated .  after  a  short  pause, 
"Anything,  papa?" 

"Yes — anything — almost,"  said  Mr.  Dombcy. 

'•'Anything  means  everything,  don't  it,  papa?"  asked 
his  son,  not  observing,  or  possibly  not  understanding  the 
qualification. 

"  It  includes  it;  yes,"  said  Mr.  Dombey. 

"  Why  didn't  money  save  me  my  mama?"  returned,  the 
child.      "It  isn't  cruel,  is  it?" 

"Cruel!"  said  Mr.  Dombey,  settling  his  neckcloth  and 
seeming  to  resent  the  idea,  "  No.  A  good  thing  can't  be 
cruel." 

"  If  it's  a  good  thing  and  can  do  anything,"  said  the  little 
fellow  thoughtfully,  as  he  looked  back  at  the  fire,  "  I 
wonder  why  it  didn't  save  me  my  mama." 

He  didn't  ask  the  question  of  his  father  this  time.  Per- 
haps he  had  seen  with  a  child's  quickness  that  it  had 
already  made  his  father  uncomfortable.  But  he  repeated 
the  thought  aloud,  as  if  it  were  quite  an  old  one  to  him  and 
troubled  him  very  much,  and  sat  with  his  chin  resting  on 
his  hand,  still  cogitating  and  looking  for  an  explanation  in 
the  fire. 

Mr.  Dombey  having  recovered  from  his  surprise,  not  to 
say  alarm  (for  it  was  the  very  first  occasion  on  which  the 
child  had  ever  broached  the  subject  of  his  mother  to  him), 
expounded  to  him  how  that  money,  though  a  very  potent 


Selections  for  Reading.  131 

spirit,  never  to  be  disparaged  on  any  account  whatever, 
could  not  keep  people  alive  whose  time  was  come  to  die; 
and  how  that  we  must  all  die;  unfortunately,  even  in  the 
city  though  we  were  never  so  rich.-  But  how  that  money 
caused  us  to  be  feared,  honored  and  respected,  courted  and 
admired,  and  made  us  powerful  and  glorious  in  the  eyes  of 
all  men;  and  how  that  it  could  very  often  even  keep  off 
death  for  a  long  time  together,  and  hovir  it  could  do  all  that 
could  be  done.  This,  with  more  to  the  same  purpose,  Mr. 
Dombey  instilled  into  the  mind  of  his  son,  who  listened  at- 
tentively and  seemed  to  understand  the  greater  part  of 
what  was  said  to  him. 

"It  can't  make  me  strong,  and  quite  well,  either,  papa, 
can  it?"  asked  Paul  after  a  short  silence,  rubbing  his  tiny 
hands. 

"  Why,  you  arc  strong  and  quite  well,"  returned  Mr. 
Dombey.     "  Are  you  not?" 

Oh,  the  age  of  the  face  that  was  turned  up  again,  with 
an  expression  half  of  melancholy  half  of  slyness  on  it! 

'*  You  are  as  strong  and  well  as  such  little  people  usually 
are?  Eli?"  said  Mr.  Dombey. 

"Florence  is  older  than  I  am,  but  I'm  not  as  strong 
and  well  as  Florence,  I  know,"  returned  the  child,  "but  I 
believe  that  when  Florence  was  as  little  as  me  she  could 
play  a  great  deal  longer  at  a  time  without  tiring  herself.  I 
am  so  tired,  sometimes,"  said  little  Paul,  warming  his 
hands  and  looking  in  between  the  bars  of  the  grate  as  if 
some'gliostly  puppet-show  was  performing  there,  "and  my 
bones  ache  so  that  I  don't  know  what  to  do." 

"  Aye,  but  that  is  at  night,"  said  Mr.  Dombey,  drawing 
his  own  chair  closer  to  his  son's  and  laying  his  hand  gently 
on  his  back,  "little  peoi)le  should  be  tired  at  night  for  then 
they  sleep  well." 


132  Selections  for  Beading. 


"Oh,  it's  not  at  night,  papa,"'  returned  the  child,  '•' il's 
in  the  da}^  and  I  lie  down  in  Florence's  lap  and  she  sings 
to  me.  At  night  I  dream  about  such  cu-ri-ous  things,"  and 
he  went  on  warming  his  hands  again  and  thinking  about 
them  like  an  old  man  or  a  young  goblin. 

Mr.  Dombey  Avas  so  astonished,  and  so  uncomfortable  and 
so  perfectly  at  a  loss  how  to  pursue  the  conversation  that 
he  could  only  sit  looking  at  his  son  by  the  light  of  the  fire 
until  the  nurse  appeared  to  summon  him  to  bed. 

When  the  cloth  was  removed  the  next  day  after  dinner, 
Mr.  Dombey  required  to  be  informed  whether  there  Avas 
anything  the  matter  with  Paul  and  what  Dr.  Pilkins  said 
about  him.  "For  the  child  is  hardly,"  said  Mr.  Dombey, 
"  hardly  as  stout  as  I  could  wish." 

"  With  your  happy  discrimination,  my  dear  brother," 
returned  Mrs.  Chick,  '-'you  have  hit  the  point  at  once. 
Our  darling  is  not  altogether  as  stout  as  I  could  wish.  The 
fact  is,  that  his  mind  is  altogether  too  mucli  for  him.  His 
soul  is  a  great  deal  too  large  for  his  frame.  I  am  sure  the 
way  in  which  that  dear  child  talks!"  said  Mrs.  Chick,  shak- 
ing her  head,  "  no  one  would  believe.  His  expressions  only 
yesterday,  on  the  subject  of  funerals —  " 

'•  I  am  afraid,"  said  Mr.  Dombey,  interrupting  her  testily, 
"  that  some  of  those  persons  up-stairs  suggest  improper 
subjects  to  the  child.  He  was  speaking  to  me  last  night 
about— about  his  bones,"  said  Mr.  Dombey,  laying  an  irri- 
tated stress  upon  the  word.  "  Wlnit  on  earth  has  anybody 
to  do  with  the— the  bones  of  my  son?  He  is  not  a  living 
skeleton,  I  suppose." 

"  Very  far  from  it,"  said  Mrs.  Chick. 
"I  hope  so,"  returned  her  brother.     "Funerals  again! 
who  talks  to  the  child  of  funerals?     We  are  not  under- 
takers, or  mutes,  or  grave-diggers,  I  believe." 


Selections  for  Reading.  133 

"■  Very  fur  from  it,"  said  Mrs,  Cliiclv  with  the  same  pro- 
found expression  iis  before.  "  Dr.  Pillvins  recommended 
to-day  sea-air." 

"  Sea-air,"'  repeated  Mr.  Dombey,  loolcing  at  his  sister. 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  made  uneasy  by,  in  that,"  said 
Mrs.  Chick. 

''  Of  course,"  said  Mr.  Dombey,  and  taking  a  book,  sat 
looking  at  one  page  for  an  hour  without  speaking  a  word. 


WILD   WEATHER   OUTSIDE. 

Margaret  E.  Sangster. 

Wild  weather  outside  where  the  brave  ships  go, 
And  tierce  from  all  quarters  the  four  winds  blow. 
Wild  weather  and  cold,  and  the  great  waves  swell 
With  chasms  beneath  them  as  black  as  hell. 
The  waters  frolic  in  Titan  play, 
They  dash  the  decks  with  an  icy  spray, 
The  spent  sails  shiver,  the  lithe  masts  reel. 
And  the  sheeted  ropes  are  as  smooth  as  steel. 
And  oh,  that  the  sailor  were  safe  once  more 
Where  the  sweet  wife  smiles  in  the  cottage  door! 

The  little  cottage,  it  shines  afar 
O'er  the  lurid  seas,  like  the  polar  star.       • 
The  mariner  tossed  in  the  jaws  of  death 
Hurls  at  the  storm  a  defiant  breath; 
Shouts  to  his  mates  through  the  writhing  foam, 
^-  Courage!  please  God,  we  shall  yet  win  liome!" 
Frozen  and  haggard,  and  wan  and  gray. 
But  resolute  still;  'tis  the  sailor's  way. 
And  perhaps — at  the  fancy  tlie  stern  eyes  dim — 
Somebody's  praying  to-night  for  him. 

Ah  mc.  through  the  drench  of  the  bitter  rain. 
How  bright  the  picture  that  rises  plain! 


134  Selections  for  Beading. 

Sure  he  can  see,  with  her  merry  look, 
His  little  maid  croouing  her  spelling-book; 
The  baby  crows  from  the  cradle  fair; 
The  grandam  nods  in  her  easy -chair; 
While  hilher  and  yon,  with  a  quiet  grace, 
A  woman  Hits  with  an  earnest  face. 
The  kitten  pnrrs,  and  the  kettle  sings. 
And  a  nameless  comfort  the  picture  brings. 

Rough  weather  outside,  but  the  winds  of  balm 
Forever  float  o'er  that  isle  of  calm. 
O  friends,  who  read  over  tea  and  toast 
Of  the  wild  night's  w^ork  on  the  storm-swept  coast. 
Think,  when  the  vessels  are  overdue. 
Of  the  perilous  voyage,  the  baffled  crew, 
Of  stout  hearts  battling  for  love  and  home 
'Mid  the  cruel  blasts  and  the  curdling  foam; 
And  breathe  a  prayer  from  your  happy  lips 
For  those  who  must  go  "  to  the  sea  iii  ships;" 
Ask  that  the  sailor  may  stand  once  more 
Where  the  sweet  wife  smiles  iu  the  cottage  door. 

— Harper's  Magazine. 


EXTRACTS   FROM   ESSAYS. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 
civilization. 
CiviLiZATiox  depends  on  morality.  Evei-ything  good 
in  man  leans  on  what  is  higher.  This  rule  holds  in  small 
as  in  great.  Thus,  all  our  strength  and  success  in  the  Avork 
of  our  hands  depend  on  our  borrowing  the  aid  of  the 
elements.  You  have  seen  a  carpenter  on  a  ladder  with  a 
broad-axe  chopping  upward  chips  from  a  beam.  How 
awkward!  At  Avhat  disadvantage  he  works!  But  see  him 
on  the  ground,  dressing  his  timber  under  him.  Now,  not 
his  feeble  muscles  but  the  force  of  gravity  brings  down  the 


Selections  for  Reading.  135 

axe;  that  is  to  say,  the  phmet  itself  splits  his  stick.  The 
farmer  had  miich  ill  temper,  laziness  and  shirking  to  endure 
from  his  hand-sawyers,  nntil  one  day  he  bethought  him  to 
put  his  saw-mill  on  the  edge  of  a  waterfall;  and  the  river 
never  tires  of  turning  his  wheel. 

I  admire  still  more  than  the  saw-mill  the  skill  which  on 
the  seashore  makes  the  tides  drive  the  wheels  and  grind 
corn,  and  which  thus  engages  the  assistance  of  the  moon, 
like  a  hired  hand,  to  grind  and  wind  and  pump  and  saw 
and  split  stone  and  roll  iron.  Now  that  is  the  wisdom  of 
a  man  in  every  instance  of  his  labor,  to  hitch  his  wagon  to 
a  star,  and  see  his  work  done  by  the  gods  themselves. 
That  is  the  way  we  are  strong,  by  borrowing  the  might  of 
the  elements.  The  forces  of  steam,  gravity,  galvanism, 
light,  magnets,  wind,  fire,  serve  us  day  by  day  and  cost  us 
nothing. 

And  as  our  handiworks  borrow  the  elements,  so  all  our 
social  and  political  action  leans  on  principle.  Gibraltar 
may  be  strong,  but  ideas  are  impregnable,  and  bestow  on 
the  hero  their  invincibility.  Let  us  not  lie  and  steal;  no 
god  will  help;  we  shall  find  all  their  teams  going  the  other 
way.  Work  rather  for  those  interests  which  the  divinities 
honor  and  promote,  justice,  love,  freedom,  knowledge  and 
utility.  The  true  test  of  civilization  is  not  the  census,  nor 
the  size  of  cities,  nor  the  crops — no,  but  the  kind  of  man 
the  country  turns  out. 

AUT. 

A  study  of  admirable  works  of  art  sharpens  our  percep- 
tions of  the  beauties  of  Nature;  a  certain  analogy  reigns 
throughout  the  wonders  of  both;  the  contemplation  of  a 
work  of  great  art  draws  us  into  a  state  of  mind  which  may 
be  called  religious.    It  conspires  with  all  exalted  sentiments. 


136  Selections  for  Beading. 


Tlie  analogies  wliicli  exist  in  all  the  arts  are  the  reappear- 
ance of  one  mind  working  in  many  materials  to  many  tem- 
])orary  cuds.  Kai)hael  paints  wisdom,  Handel  sings  it, 
Phidias  curves  it,  Shakespeare  Avrites  it,  Wren  builds  it, 
Columbus  sails  it,  Luther  preaches  it,  Washington  arms  it. 
Watt  mechanizes  it.  Painting  was  called  "  silent  poetry," 
and  poetry  ''speaking  painting."  The  laws  of  each  art  are 
convertible  into  the  laws  of  every  other. 

Every  geunino  woi-k  of  art  has  as  much  reason  for  being 
as  the  earth  and  the  sun.  The  gayest  charm  of  beauty  has 
a  root  in  the  constitution  of  things.  '  The  Iliad  of  Homer, 
the  songs  of  David,  the  odes  of  Pindar,  the  tragedies  of 
Echylus,  the  Doric  tem])les,  the  Gothic  cathedrals,  the 
plays  of  Shakespeare,  all  and  each  were  made  not  for  sport, 
but  in  grave  earnest  in  tears  and  smiles  of  suffering,  loving 
men.  The  Gotliic  cathedrals  were  built  when  the  builder 
and  the  priest  and  the  people  were  overpowered  by  their 
faith.  Love  and  fear  laid  every  stone.  And  beauty,  truth 
and  goodness  are  not  obsolete.  They  sj^ring  eternal  in  the 
breast  of  man;  they  are  as  indigenous  in  Massachusetts  as 
in  Tuscany  or  the  Isles  of  Greece.  And  that  Eternal  Spirit 
whose  trii^le  face  they  are,  molds  from  them  forever,  for 
})is  mortal  child,  images  to  remind  him  of  the  Infinite  and 
Fair. 


THE  SIOUX   CHIEF'S  DAUGHTER. 

Joaquin  Miller, 

Two  gray  hawks  ride  the  rising  blast; 
Dark  cloven  clouds  drive  to  and  fro 
By  peaks  pre-eminent  in  snow; 
A  sounding  rivor  rushes  past; 


Selections  for  Reading.  137 

A  fawn}'  maiden,  mule  and  still, 
Stands  waiting-  'neatli  the  windy  hill. 
A  mighty  Chief  is  at  her  feet. 
She  does  not  heed  him  wooing  so; 
She  waits  her  lover,  tall  and  fleet, 
From  far  gold  fields  of  Idaho. 

"He  comes!"  she  cries.     "  Why  spring  in  air, 
Great  Chief,  with  arm  and  blade  so  bare? 
But  see!    A  test  of  strength  and  skill 
In  storm-born  wat-ers  now  I  will 
Appoint  j'ou  both  .  .  .  Stand  either  side; 
Take  you  my  left,  tall  Idaho! 
And  you,  my  right;  now  peer  you  low 
Across  the  waters  wild  and  wide. 

"  And  this,  brave  men,  shall  be  the  test: 
Plunge  in  the  stream,  bear  knife  in  teeth, 
To  cut  yon  bough  for  trophy  wreath. 
Plunge  in !    And  he  who  bears  him  best, 
And  brings  yon  ruddy  fruit  to  land 
The  first  shall  have  both  heart  and  hand!" 

The  angry  Chief,  with  sullen  might. 

Throws  by  his  robes;  with  long  arms  bare. 

He  twines  red  fox-tails  in  his  hair. 

But  Idaho,  with  proud  delight, 

Entwines  a  crest  of  snowy  white, 

That  she,  through  all  the  flood,  shall  know 

How  speeds  her  tall,  dark  Idaho. 

And  now  they  dive!  dive  long,  and  now 

The  foam  flies  white  from  breast  and  brow! 

The  middle  wave  is  fairly  won! 

Their  bronze  necks  glisten  in  the  sun! 

Their  black  hair  streams  in  serpent  strings  I 

The  yellow  water  spins  in  rings! 

And  now  they  near  the  shore!     And  now 

The  foam  flies  spouting  from  a  face 

That,  laughing,  lifts  ahead  the  race! 


188  Selections  for  Reading. 

"  The  prize  is  won!     The  work  is  done! 
I  see  the  climbing  crest  of  snowl 
Like  gold  he  glistens  in  the  sun! 
My  tall  and  tawny  Idaho! 
I  see  him  clutch  the  bended  bough! 
'Tis  cleft!     He  turns!  is  coming  now! 

"My  tall  and  tawny  king  come  back! 
Come  swift,  oh,  sweet,  why  falter  so? 
Come!  Come!  What  thing  has  crossed  j'our  track? 
O  come,  my  manly  Idaho! 
Great  Spirit!     What  is  this  I  dread? 
He  fails!     He  sinks!     He  rises,  see! 
Hold  fast  your  strength;  strike,  strike  for  mel 
Wliy,  there  is  blood!     The  wave  is  red! 
That  fiendish  Chief,  outstripped  in  race, 
Dives  down,  and,  hiding  from  my  face, 
Strikes  underneath.  .  .  .  He  rises  now! 
Now  plucks  my  hero's  berry  bough, 
And  lifts  aloft  his  red  fox  liead! 
He  signals  he  has  won  for  me! 
Hist!    Vengeance!     Let  him  come,  and  see  .  .  . 

"But  you,  my  bleeding  hero,  come! 
Come  back  to  me!     My  lips  are  dumb. 
My  hands  are  helpless  in  despair! 
The  hair  you  kissed,  my  long,  strong  hair, 
Is  reaching  to  the  ruddy  tide 
To  lift  you  to  your  love  and  bride. 


"  Did  I  but  dream,  and  do  I  wake? 
Or  did  I  wake,  and  now  but  dream? 
Wiiat  is  this  crawls  from  out  the  stream? 
Oil,  here  is  some  mad,  mad  mistake! 
Wiiat!     Tou.  have  brought  the  victor's  wreath? 
That  ])lade  has  blood  between  j'our  teeth! 
Lie  still!     Lie  still,  till  I  lean  o'er 
And  clutch  that  red  blade  to  the  shore  .  .  . 


Selections  for  Reading.  139 

Lie  still!     Lie  still!    Nay,  do  not  rise, 

Let  tliis  I'ed  liute  in  my  hot  eyes — 

Ha!     Ha!     So!     Througli  your  coward  throat 

Tlie  water  gurgles  as  you  float  .   .  . 

"  There's  something  yonder  drifting  slow 
And  lifeless  down;  and  sinking  low 
In  blood,  and  seems  to  swirl  around. 
As  if  somebody  had  been  drowned  .  .  . 

"  What  voice  is  this?     This  crest  of  snow? 
It  is — it  is  my  Idalio 
Climbs  wounded,  weary  from  tlie  wave, 
As  if  from  out  an  opened  grave! 
Take  heart!     Take  heart!     Take  hold  my  handl 
Thy  feet  are  on  the  solid  land! 
Thy  face  is  lifted  to  my  face! 
And  who  shall  now  dispute  the  race?" 


LILIES  IN  PRISON". 
Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps. 


I  AM  going  to  tell  a  short  story  about  my  sister.  I  am 
a  boy,  and  she  isn't,  and  so  we  looked  at  it  differently. 
When  I  say  it,  I  mean  this  thing  that  the  story  is  abont. 
It  is  all  settled  now,  and  I  was  wrong,  and  she  wasn't.  I 
hate  to  be  in  the  wrong,  but  I  hate  more  to  be  mean. 
And  I  think  it's  mean  not  to  own  np  when  you  are. 

I've  been  thinking  about  it,  and  I  thought  the  best  way  to 
own  up  I  could  think  of,  would  be  to  tell  the  story.  This 
thing  we  looked  at  differently  I  spoke  of  wasn't  much.  It 
was  nothing  but  a  parcel  of  flowers,  and  it  was  more  than  a 
year  ago.  It  Avas  last  June.  They  grow  in  a  great  bed 
behind  our  house.  They  are  lilies  of  the  valley,  and  you 
always  know  it's  June  by  their  getting  along  so  far. 


140  Selections  for  Reading. 

So  then.  Day  is  a,  queer  girl.  She  isn't  like  all  tlic 
other  girls,  flic's  pretty  as  she  can  live,  and  she's  jolly  as 
time,  and  she  isn't  the  kind  of  good  you  see  in  Sunday- 
school  books,  that  slumps  through  and  dies.  Then  all  the 
poor  folks  cry  at  her  funeral — in  the  hoolc.  Daisy's  fond  of 
poor  people  too;  all  sorts  of  rag-tag  and  bob-tails.  I  don't 
ajiprove  of  it.  I  don't  like  the  society  she  keeps.  But 
she's  so  jolly  you  can't  say  much.  She's  a  haud  to  carry 
on,  I  can  tell  you,  when  she  feels  like  it. 

Xow  the  time  I  speak  of,  my  sister  came  in  one  day. 
Father  and  I  were  discussing  politics  in  the  library.  Day, 
she  came  in  from  the  garden,  and  she  had  on  a  white 
dress,  and  her  straw  hat,  and  her  hands  were  just  lieaped 
with  those  lilies  I  told  you  of.  It  was  a  pleasant  day.  She 
came  and  stood  in  the  door,  and  I  and  father  stopped  talk- 
ing politics  to  look  at  her. 

"Father?"  said  Day.  She  always  speaks  up  like  that 
when  she  speaks  his  name,  as  if  she  were  asking  him  a 
question.  "Father,  I  want  to  go  to  Wenham  Prison." 
•'  Whatf  says  father.  "  I  w\^nt  to  carry  some  lilies  of  the 
valley  to  Wenham  Prison,"  said  Daisy.  "I  want  to  give 
them  to  the  poor  men.  We  have  more  than  we  can  j)os- 
siblv  use.  I  can  go  in  the  noon  ti'ain,  and  be  back  to  tea. 
Have  you  any  objections,  sir?  May  I  go?''  "  Certainly 
not,"  said  I.  I  didn't  wait  for  father.  I  was  so  kind  of 
shocked  and  mad  with  Day.  But  father  paid  no  more 
attention  to  me  than  if  I'd  been  a  grasshopper  candidating 
for  town  clerk,  lie  just  sat  and  looked  at  Daisy.  "Aren't 
you  afraid,  my  clear?''  he  said.  "  They  are  pretty  rough 
men."  "  Oli  no,  sir,"  said  Daisy.  "I  am  not  afraid." 
"Do  you  suppose  they  will  care  for  your  flowers?"  asked 
father.  But  he  spoke  low,  kind  of,  and  lower.  "  Oh  yes, 
sir,"  said   Daisy.     "I  am  sure  they'll  care."      "They'll 


J 


Selections  for  Beading.  141 

make  fun  of  you!"  said  I,  I  was  so  mad.  "  Be  still,  sir!" 
said  father,  like  a  shot.  And  my  gracious  I  when  I  looked 
at  him,  I  saw  father  was  most  ready  to  cry — if  he  hadn't 
been  a  man — two  real,  genuine  no-mistake  tears  in  his  eyes, 
for  looking  at  Daisy.  And  he  said,  "  Come  here,  my 
daughter,"  and  he  kissed  her,  and  he  said,  "  Go  and  take 
your  flowers  to  the  poor  fellows,  Daisy,  and  Heaven  bless 
you!"  and  then  he  said  no  more  about  it. 

But  I  couldn't  stand  it,  don't  you  see?  for  I  never  did 
agree  with  Day  about  those  things;  and  I  thought  this 
"wasn't  proper;  none  the  other  fellows'  sisters  did  it,  so  I  up 
and  said  I  wished  Day  was  like  other  girls,  and  I  thought 
it  was  disreputable  going  to  prison  and  places.  "You  do 
keep  such  disgraceful  company,  Daisy!"-  said  I.  Then  my 
father  turned  on  me,  and  he  looked  like  thunder — and  he 
says  to  me,  "  BobertV^  (my  name  is  Bob).  "  You  will  put 
on  your  hat  and  accompany  your  sister  to  Wenham,  and 
take  care  of  her  till  she  gets  back,  and  if  I  know  of  your 
saying  one  Ireatliing  word  to  make  her  uncomfortable, 
I'll  take  aavay  tour  pocket-money  for  six  months!" 

But  Daisy  didn't  seem  to  care.  She  only  looked  at  me 
as  if  she'd  been  trying  not  to  laugh;  the  way  she  looked 
once  when  I  was  a  little  boy  and  told  her  I  wanted  a  Bible, 
one  Sunday,  with  the  IIj/poc7'isy  in  it.  I  meant  the 
Apocrypha,  and  she  thought  she  wouldn't  hurt  my  feel- 
ings. So  she  never  laughed  and  never  got  mad;  she  only 
just  stood  there  with  her  lilies,  and  not  one  of  'em  looked 
sweeter  than  my  sister,  if  she  does  keep  such  society.  We 
call  'em  Daisy's  "  set,"  all  the  scalawags  she  looks  after. 
And  when  we  went  to  the  train  that  day  (for  I  had  to  go), 
I  called  back  to  mother,  "  Daisy's  going  into  society!  You 
ouglit  to  come  to  matronize  her.  Daisy  and  I  are  going 
lo  make  our"    (de — c — how   do   you   spell  it?    D — a — ) 


142  Selections  for  Reading. 

(Daisy's  day-ooo  is  what  I  wish  to  say.)  But  Day  only 
laughed,  and  mother  never  said  anything  (she  never  does), 
and  father  wasn't  round.  ''  The  select  circle  of  Prison 
Point!"  said  I.     "I  hope  they  won't  snub  us." 

Now  Day  ought  to  have  snubbed  me,  but  she  didn't; 
only  pretty  soon  Avhen  I  was  most  across  the  road  my 
father  overtook  us,  and  he  said,  "  My  son,  your  sister 
keeps  a  kind  of  society  the  rest  of  us  might  be  glad  to 
keep  at  the  Judgment  Day.  Daisy  won't  be  ashamed  of 
her  '  set  ''then,"  says  father.  And  so  then  he  went  to  the 
station  with  us,  and  he  gave  Day  a  letter  of  introduction  to 
the  warden,  and  then  he  said  good-by  as  if  she'd  been  going 
to  heaven  instead  of  to  prison,  and  so  we  started  off  and 
Avent,  I  as  mad  as  mad  (but  I  didn't  durst  show  it  on  account 
of  father),  and  Day  as  sweet  and  still  as  if  she'd  been  a  live 
lily  herself. 

For  all  Day  had  on  her  traveling  clothes,  which  Avere 
so  plain  and  modest,  yet  she  seemed  to  grow  whiter  and 
whiter — maybe  she  was  a  mite  scared — Avlien  we  came 
nearer  to  the  prison;  and  before  we  got  there,  which  was 
the  whitest,  she  or  the  lilies,  nobody  could  have  said,  and 
a  great  many  people  looked  at  her. 

Well,  and  so  we  Avent  on,  and  we  came  to  the  prison. 
And  it  was  very  large  and  dark.  And  they  let  us  in.  And 
the  Avarden  kind  of  smiled  over  my  father's  letter.  And  he 
looked  at  Daisy,  and  he  looked  at  the  floAvers,  and  he  said, 
"  There  are  four  hundred  and  seventy  pretty  rough,  bad 
men  in  this  place,  miss.  Do  you  tliink  they  Avill  care  for 
your  flowers?"  "May  I  try  and  see,  sir?"  said  Daisy. 
*'  Fa'c  no  objections,"  said  the  warden.  He  was  a  big  man. 
But  he  spoke  in  a  soft  voice.  So  he  let  us  in.  And  wo  all 
Avent  together. 

But  I  Avent  ahead  of  my  sister  to  protect  her.     And  the 


Selections  for  Beading.  143 

■warden  asked  how  old  I  was.  And  he  walked  beside  Day, 
close  beside  her,  all  the  way.  And  Daisy  kept  hold  of  her 
flowers.  And  all  the  men  were  coming  out  of  dinner. 
So  the  warden  let  us  stand  on  a  pair  of  stairs  and  look 
down  at  'em.  So  they  filed  along,  four  hundred  and 
seventy  of  'em — and  Day,  she  leaned  and  looked  at  'em. 
Day  has  such  a  pitiful  way  with  her,  it's  enough  to  break 
your  heart.  I  never  knew  a  girl  look  so.  And  she  clung 
on  to  the  flowers.  But  one  dropped.  And  a  beastly- 
looking  fellow,  it  hit  him  on  the  forehead,  and  he  looked 
up,  and  there  he  saw  my  sister  looking  over — and  the 
flowers.  And  he  had  red  hair.  And  he  stood  and  looked 
uji.  But  that  made  the  other  men  take  notice.  My 
gracious!  what  a  lot  they  were,  you  never  saw!  And  they 
all  began  to  look  up. 

So  Day  she  curled  up  and  pulled  back,  and  we  walked 
on,  and  the  warden  too.  And  he  never  laughed  at  her.  I 
was  afraid  he  would.  I  had  felt  ashamed.  Nor  the  red- 
headed prisoner  didn't  laugh.  He  picked  up  the  flower. 
And  we  all  went  on.  Well;  and  so  then  they  went  to  their 
cells,  some  of  'em,  and  some  to  work.  And  the  warden  took 
us  to  the  cells.  And  Day  walked  in  ahead.  She  wasn't  a 
mite  afraid. 

There  was  a  chap  there  in  for  murder — had  tried  to 
kill  the  keeper,  too,  last  week.  Day  gave  him  floAvers 
first  of  all.  You  never  saw  a  chap  look  as  that  chap 
did.  I  didn't  know  but  he'd  strike  somebodv,  he  was  so 
confounded.  But  he  said,  ''  Thank  you,  ma'am,"  like  a 
gentleman. 

So  we  went  from  cell  to  cell,  and  my  sister  gave  away 
her  lilies  of  the  valley  to  the  prisoners.  I  felt  kind  of 
moan.  They  didn't  laugh  at  her.  They  treated  her  as 
if  she'd  been  an  angel  come  from  heaven,  and  they  all 


144  Selections  for  Reading. 

said,  ''  Thank  you  miss,  or  marm;"  and  one  of  'em  he 
put  it  into  a  pitelicr  with  a  bouncing  blue  lilock.  And  by 
and  by  the  lilies  Avere  all  gone. 

Tliis  year,  our  Day  got  sick.  I  was  scared,  for  Day 
never  does  such  things — she's  too  sensible.  But  she  did 
get  sick.  Fve  forgotten  what  the  matter  was.  She  had 
lots  of  different  doctors.  One  of  'em  said  it  was  ncuralyger, 
and  one  said  it  was  studying,  and  another  one,  seems  to  nic, 
said  it  was  indigestion  of  the  lungs.  Anyhow,  something 
ailed  her,  and  she  wasn't  round  a  good  while.  Then  she 
got  better,  and  used  to  sit  on  piazzas  and  places  to  get  the 
air.  So  we  all  had  to  wait  on  her.  But  I  didn't  mind  it 
very  much,  seeing  it  was  Day. 

Well,  and  so,  as  I  was  saying.  Day  sat  on  the  piazza. 
And  one  Sunda}',  we  all  went  to  meeting — only  Day  and 
the  old  nurse.  I'd  rather  stayed  at  home  and  read  to  Day. 
I  had  '*Tom  Brown  at  Rugby"  out  the  library  to  read  to 
her.  But  mother  made  me  go  to  meeting,  and  father  said 
the  old  Avoman  would  keep  awake.  So  we  left  the  biggest 
dinner-bell  in  the  house,  and  wc  all  Avent. 

And  the  church  isn't  a  great  Avay  off.  I  thought  we 
could  hear  that  dinner-bell  if  anything  happened,  and  she 
rang  it  like  time.  So  we  went  to  chuich,  and  Day  sat 
in  the  easy-chair  Avith  her  shaAvls  on.  And  avc  all  kissed 
her  good-by.  And  she  ncA^er  complained.  And  father  said 
how  sweet  she  AA^as,  as  Ave  Avalked  along.  And  I  looked 
back.  But  the  old  niu'se  hadn't  gone  to  sleep,  and  Day 
shook  the  dinner-bell  at  me,  and  she  laughed,  and  Ave  all 
Avent  on  and  left  her. 

We  had  been  gone  to  church  awhile,  and  Day,  she  was 
sitting  all  alone  upon  the  piazza,  and  the  deaf  old  AA^oman 
had  gone  to  slee}).  And  Day  Avas  feeling  quiet,  and  a  little 
lonesome,  and  wishing  she  knew  when  she  would  get  well, 


Selections  for  Reading.  145 

fiiid  leaning  back  in  her  shawls  and  pillows  and  things,  and 
looking  through  the  grape-vine  on  the  piazza  posts,  when 
all  at  once  the  gate  opened  with  a  little  noise.  So  when 
Day  heard  the  noise,  she  looked  up,  and  what  do  you  think 
siie  saw?  Sir,  it  was  a  tram])!  And  there  my  sister  was, 
sir,  with  nothing  but  the  deaf  old  woman  and  the  dinnei- 
bell.  And  it  was  Sunday  morning,  and  nobody  passed  upon 
the  street.  And  no  living  mortal  in  the  house  but  those 
two.  And  there  she  sat  among  her  pillows.  And  she  was 
so  weak  she  couldn't  walk  a  step.  And  there  she  was. 
Well,  sir.  Day  saj/s  she  was  scared  for  a  minute,  just  a 
minute.  And  she  wished  father  Avas  at  home.  And  she 
grabbed  the  dinner-bell.  But  the  old  woman  was  iu  the 
})arlor  on  the  lounge,  and  she  w'as  snoring  like  the  dead. 
So  Day  thought  it  was  a  i)ity  to  wake  her,  and  slic  thought 
she  would  be  scared  and  run.  So  she  sat  still,  and  she 
didn't  say  a  word.     And  the  tramp  came  up. 

He  looked  very  ugly,  that  tramp  did.  If  I'd  been  there, 
I  don't  know  but  I'd  have  shot  him.  But  I  wasn't.  And 
he  came  up  and  said,  "  Folks  at  home?"  So  Daisy  an- 
swered— for  she's  brave — "  Some  of  them  are.  What  do 
you  want?"  '^  Ask  mo  what  I  don't  want!"  says  the  tramp, 
and  he  looked  very  ugly.  And  he  pushed  on  into  the  front 
entry,  for  he  didn't  much  notice  Day. 

*''I  want  most  everything,"  said  that  tramp.  "I'm 
hungry;  I'm  thirsty;  I'm  wet;  I'm  ragged;  I  want  a  place 
to  live;  I  want  the  means  o'  livin';  I  tvant  some  money," 
said  the  tramp.  So  he  pushed  into  the  entry  and.  poked 
about.  And  Day  rang  her  dinner-bell,  but  the  old  woman 
slept  like  the  last  trumpet.  And  the  tramp  said,  "  Likely 
lookin'  place.  Don't  seem  to  be  manij  of  yer  folks  about. 
Silver  in  the  room  yonder?  Don't  you  fret.  I'll  just  look 
around,  and   come  l)ack  to  t/ou  afterwards."     Now  Day 


146  Selections  for  Reading. 

owns  lip  she  did  feel  scareder  and  scareder,  but  she  never 
let  Mm  know;  and  she  wondered  what  it  was  best  to  do. 
She  could  hear  'em  singing  at  church,  and  they  snng: 

"  Safe,  safe  at  home." 

And  so,  for  she  didn't  know  what  else  to  do,  she  called 
him  back  politely — Day  is  always  polite — and  the  rascal 
came  and  asked  her  what  she  Avanted.  Then  Daisy  looked 
at  him,  and  she  saw  how  he  looked,  for  he  ivas  hungry, 
and  he  was  kind  of  pale  and  hollowed  in,  and  what  do  you 
s'pose  she  said?  She  said,  "  Poor  fellow!"  Just  like  that 
— just  like  Day.     She  said  she  felt  so  sorry  for  him. 

So,  when  she  said,  "  Poor  fellow!"  the  tramp  he  stood  and 
looked  at  Daisy,  and  Daisy  looked  at  the  tramp,  and  they 
both  looked  at  each  other,  and  the  tramp  he  colored  blazing 
red,  and  then  he  said,  "By  gracious  Jiminy!''  And  then 
he  said,  "  Nobody  ever  called  me  a  poor  fellow  but  once 
before  in  all  my  blasted  life!  And  slie  was — she  was — 
Ma'am,"  said  that  tramp,  all  of  a  sudden,  "  have  you  ever 
teen  in  imsonf  "Once,"  said  Day,  and  she  began  to 
smile;  and  he  began  to  red  up  and  red  uj),  more  and  more, 
and  he  said,  "If  you  ain't  the  young  leddy  herself,  I'll  eat 
my  head!  You  gave  me  a  white  flower,"  said  that  tramp. 
"  I  didn't  know  which  on  'em  was  the  holiest  to  see,"  said 
the  tramp.  "  You  gave  it  to  me  and  told  me  to  be  a  better 
man.  You  told  me  to  be  as  white — as  tliat.  And  I'd  been 
as  black  as  hell,"  said  the  tramp.  "  I  never  forgot  it,"  said 
he.  "No  livin'  creetur  ever  called  me  a  poor  feller,  or  told 
me  I  could  be  a  l)etter  man.  I  never  forgot  you,  miss,  so 
-help  me  God!  Though  I  hain't  got  to  bein'  a  nangel  yet, 
I've  kep'  it  in  mind,  and  it's  just  His  ctarnal  Avny  of  payin' 
me  off  that  I  should  be  let  to  sneak  in  here  of  a  Sunday 
mornin'  a  bullyin'  and  scarin'  you.     And — you — sick — too," 


Selections  for  Reading.  147 

said  tliat  tramp,  softly.  "  What's  tlie  matter?  Hain't  got 
tlie  gallopin'  consumption,  have  yon?" 

So  Day  told  him  no,  not  so  bad  as  that,  and  she  got  oyer 
her  scare,  and  she  rang  and  rang  till  the  deaf  old  womaa 
came  ont  and  said,  "  Lord  a  massy!"  and  Day  sent  her  to 
get  breakfast  for  the  tramp.  And  it  was  the  red-headed 
burglar  she'd  hit  withthe  lily  over  the  stairs  that  day, 
and  Day  made  him  sit  down  and  talk  with  her.  But  he 
Avas  awfully  ashamed.  And  he  took  an  old  purse  he  had 
out  of  his  pocket,  and  showed  her  that  flower  he  had 
kept.  He  had  kept  it  ever  since,  he  said.  And  Daisy 
like  to  have  cried  when  she  saw  it.  But  tlie  tramp  was 
hungry,  so  she  stopped  to  see  about  his  breakfast. 

"Well,  then,  so  we  all  came  home  from  church,  and  there 
they  were.  And  the  deaf  old  nurse  waddled  out  to  meet 
lis,  she  was  so  scared.  And  she  rang  the  dinner-bell,  and 
cried  "Fire!"  For  she  didn't  know  what  the  man  was 
about,  and  she  waddled  up  and  says  to  father,  "  There's 
a  murderer  on  the  piazzy  to  murder  Miss  Daisy!"  And 
we  all  ran  up — and  the  neighbors  too — and  the  old  nurse 
rang  the  dinner-bell  like  mad,  and  you  never  saw  such  a 
sight  in  all  your  days!  And  when  we  got  there,  there  sat 
my  sister  as  sweet  as  you  please,  and  smiling  at  us  all,  and 
the  red-headed  buroiar — for  I  knew  him  in  a  iiffv — he  sat 
with  his  hat  off,  eating  cold  sandwiches  and  coffee  at  her 
feet. 

He  looked  kind  of  like  a  lion  sitting  down  beside  a  lamb. 
But  the  red-headed  burglar  was  verv  well-behaved  and 
gentlemanly,  and  Day  said,  "  Hush,  papa!"  when  father 
went  to  take  him  by  the  collar.  And  then  she  told  us  all 
about  it.  But  father  couldn't  forgive  him  for  the  scare, 
so  Day  had  to  say,  "  Hush,  papa!"  again,  and  that  was  the 
cud  of  it.     And  the  tramp  showed  the  dead  lily  in  his 


148  Select  to  )LS  for  Heading. 

dirty  purse  to  father,  and  he  said  lie  was  ashamed,  and 
he  said  he  wanted  honest  work.  So  we  all  sat  round, 
quite  as  if  he'd  been  one  of  the  family.  "  Oh,  my  father 
will  find  you  honest  work,"  said  Day,  just  as  if  there  was 
no  doubt  about  it.  And  the  worst  of  it  was  he  did.  He 
always  does.  Day  has  only  to  look  at  him.  He  did  find 
the  red-headed  rascal  some  wood  to  chop  all  summer  at  our 
wood-lot.  And  he  behaved  like  a  gentleman — I  don't  mean 
father,  but  the  tramp. 

Sometimes  we  called  him  Day's  burglar.  Then  we  called 
him  her  tram]).  /  used  to  call  him  her  lily  of  the  Yallcy. 
But  that  made  him  mad,  and  he  swore  at  me,  and  I  had  to 
quit.  He  acted  as  if  I'd  made  game  of  all  the  saints  in 
heaven.  And  he  treated  mv  sister  as  if  she'd  been  the 
Virgin  Mary.  And  so,  when  Day  got  well,  I  had  to  drive 
hei'  all  over  the  county  till  we  found  a  place  in  a  factory 
for  that  fellow. 

One  day,  I  went  over  to  sec  him  after  he'd  worked  at  the 
factory.  I  thought  I'd  surprise  him,  and  see  if  he  wasn't 
drunk  or  something.  But  he  came  out  to  meet  me,  look- 
ing very  neat  and  well-behaved,  like  otlier  men.  And  when 
I  went  home  he  sent  his  best  respects  to  Day,  and  showed 
me  the  lily,  and  said  I  was  to  tell  her  that  it  Avasn't  lost, 
and  that  he  asked  God  to  bless  her  every  day.  So  I  had  to 
go  home  and  tell  her.  And  Day  didn't  say  much.  But 
father  kissed  her — ho  always  does  when  there's  any  excuse 
for  it.  And  I  can't  think  of  any  more.  But  I  liad  never 
owned  nii  to  Dav.  so  I  thought  I'd  Avrite  it  out.  1  don't 
think  I  should  be  ashamed  of  the  society  she  keeps  if  I 
were  Day. 


Selections  for  Beading.  149 

JACK   ABBOTT'S   BREAKFAST. 
Leigh  Hunt. 

"What  a  breakfast  I  shall  eat !"  thought  Jack  Abbott 
as  he  turned  into  Middle  Temple  Lane,  towards  the  cham- 
bers of  his  old  friend  and  tutor  Goodall.  "How  I  shall 
cram  down  the  rolls  (especially  the  inside  bits),  how  apol- 
ogize for  one  cup  more  !  But  Goodall  is  an  excellent  old 
fellow,  he  won't  mind.  To  be  sure,  I'm  rather  late.  The 
rolls  Avill  be  cold,  but  anything  will  be  delicious.  If  I  met 
a  baker  I  could  eat  his  basket."  Jack  Abbott  was  a  good- 
hearted,  careless  fellow,  who  had  walked  that  morning 
from  Hendon  to  breakfast  by  appointment  with  his  old 
tutor.  Arrived  at  the  door  of  his  friend's  room  he  knocks, 
and  the  door  is  opened  by  Goodall  himself,  a  thin  grizzled 
personage,  in  an  old  great-coat,  shaggy  eyebrows,  and  a 
most  bland  and  benevolent  expression  of  countenance — a  sort 
of  Dominie  Sampson,  an  angel  of  the  dusty  heaven  of  book- 
stalls and  the  British  Museum. 

Unfortunately  for  the  hero  of  our  story  this  angel  of 
sixty-five,  unshaven  and  with  stockings  down  at  the  heel, 
had  a  memory  Avhicli  could  not  recollect  what  had  been 
told  him  six  hours  before,  much  less  six  days.  Accordingly 
he  had  finished  his  breakfast  long  before  his  late  pupil 
]n-esented  himself.  The  angel  was  also  very  short-sighted, 
and  in  response  to  Jack  Abbott's  hearty,  "Well,  how  d'ye 
do,  my  dear  sir  ?  I'm  afraid  I'm  very  late,"  replied  in 
the  blandest  tones,  "Ah,  dear  me  ! — I'm  very — I  beg  par- 
don— pray,  who  is  it  I  have  the  pleasure  of  speaking  to  ?" 

"What!  don't  you  recollect  me,  my  dear  sir?  Jack, 
Abbott.     I  met  you,  you  know,  and  was  to  come  and — " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Abbott,  is  it !    My  dear  Mr.  Abbott,  to  thin'} 


150  Selections  for   Ueadlng. 

I  should  not  see  you!  And  how  is  the  good  lady,  your 
mother?" 

"  Very  well,  very  well  indeed,  sir."  Here  Jack  glanced 
at  the  breakfast-table.  '•  I'm  quite  rejoiced  to  see  tiuit  the 
breakf  st-cloth  is  not  removed.  I'm  horribly  late.  But 
don't  take  any  trouble,  my  good  sir.  The  kettle  I  see  is 
still  singing  on  the  hob.  Til  cut  myself  a  piece  of  bread 
and  butter  immediately." 

"Ah  !  You  have  come  to  breakfast,  have  you,  my  kind 
boy?    Tliat  is  very  good  of  you,  very  good  indeed." 

'•'Ah,"  thought  hungry  Jack  Abbott,  smiling  even  while 
he  sighed,  "  How  completely  he  has  forgotten  the  invitation! 
— Tliank  you,  my  dear  sir,  thank  you.  To  tell  the  truth  I'm 
very  hungry,  hungry  as  a  hunter.  I  walked  all  the  way 
from  Hendon  this  morning." 

"Bless  me!  J)jd  you,  indeed?  Why,  that's  a  very  long 
way,  isn't  it?     Well,  sir,  I'll  make  some  fresh  tea,  and — " 

"' I  bog  })ardon,''  interrupted  Jack,  who  in  a  fury  of 
hunger  and  thirst  was  pouring  out  what  tea  he  could  find 
in  the  pot,  "I  can  do  very  well  with  this, — at  any  rate  to 
begin  with." 

"Ah!  But  I'm  sorry  to  see — wliat  are  we  to  do  for  milk? 
I'm  afraid  I  must  keep  you  waiting  while  1  step  out  for 
some." 

"Don't  stir,  I  beg  you!"  ejaculated  our  hero,  "don't 
think  of  it,  my  dear  sir.  I  can  do  very  well  without  milk, 
I  can  indeed;  I  oflcn  do  without  milk." 

"Well,  indeed,  I  Ikiat  met  with  such  instances  before, 
and  it's  very  lucky  that  you  do  not  care  for  milk,  but — 
Well,  well!  if  the  sugar-basin  isn't  empty!  I  will  go  out 
instantly.     My  hat  must  be  under  those  i)amphlcts." 

"  Don't  think  of  such  a  thing,  pray  don't,  my  dear  sir," 
cried  Jack.     "  You  mav  think  it  odd;  but  sugar.  1  can  assure 


Selections  for  Reading.  151 


you,  is  a  tiling  that  I  don't  at  all  care  for.     Tlie  bread,  my 
dear  sir,  the  bread  is  all  I  require,  just  that  piece." 

"  Well,  sii-,  you're  very  good,  and  very  temperate;  but 
now — ah,  as  for  butter,  I  declare  I  doirt  believe — " 

^^  Butter!''  interrupted  onr  hero  in  a  tone  of  the  greatest 
scorn,  "why,  I  haven't  eaten  butter  I  don't  know  when. 
Not  a  step,  sir,  not  a  step.  I  must  make  haste,  for  I've  got 
to  luDch  with  my  lawyer  and  he'll  expect  me  to  eat  some- 
thincf,  and  in  fact  I'm  so  anxious  and  feel  so  hurried  that  I 
must  be  oif,  my  good  sir,  I  must  indeed." 

Jack  had  made  up  his  mind  to  seek  the  nearest  coffee- 
house as  fast  as  possible  and  there  have  the  heartiest  and 
most  luxurious  breakfast  that  could  make  amends  for  his 
disappointment.  Being  once  more  out  of  doors,  our  hero 
rushes  like  a  tiger  into  Fleet  Street  and  plunges  into  the 
first  coffee-house  in  sight. 

''Waiter!" 

''Yessir." 

"  Breakfast  immediately.  Tea,  black  and  green,  and  all 
that." 

"  Yessir.     Eggs  and  toast,  sir?" 

"  By  all  means." 

"Yessir.     Any  ham,  sir?" 

"Just  so,  and  instantly." 

"Y^essir.     Cold  fowl,  sir?" 

"Precisely,  and  no  delay." 

"Yessir.     Pickles,  sir?" 

"Bring  all — everything, — no,  I  don't  care  for  pickles,  bu 
bring  anything  you  like,  and  do  make  haste,  my  good  fel 
low.     Do  hurry  up!    I  never  was  so  hungry  in  my  life!" 

"Yessir.     Directly,  sir.     Like  the  paper,  sir?" 

"Thank  you,  thank  you!  Now  for  heaven's  sake,  I  beg 
of  you—" 


152  Selections  for  Reading. 

"  Yossir.     Im mediately,  sir;  everytliing  ready,  sir." 

"  Everytliing  ready  I"  thought  Jack.  "  Cliccring  sound  I 
Beautiful  place,  a  coffee-house!  Fine  EnciU^li  place — 
everything  so  snug,  so  comfortable.  Have  wiiat  you  like 
and  no  fu?;3  about  it.  What  a  breakfast  I  shall  eat!  And 
the  pajier,  too:  horrid  murder — mysterious  affair — assassi- 
nation. Bless  me,  what  horrible  things — how  very  com- 
fortable!    AVaitcr!" 

"  Yessir.     Coming  sir.     Directly,  sir." 

'•  You've  another  slice  of  toast  getting  ready?" 

''  Yessir,     All  right,  sir," 

"  Let  the  third,  if  you  please,  be  thicker,  and  the  fourth." 

Everything  is  served  up:  toast,  hot  and  rich;  eggs, 
plump;  ham,  huge;    cold  fowl,  tempting, 

"Glorious  moment  I'"  inwardly  ejaculated  Jack  Abbott, 
He  had  doubled  the  paper  conveniently  so  as  to  read  the 
"Express  from  Paris,"  in  perfect  comfort.  Before  he  poured 
out  his  tea,  he  was  in  the  act  of  putting  his  hand  to  one  of 
the  inner  slices  of  toast  when — awful  visitation! — whom 
should  he  see  passing  the  window  but  his  friend  Goodall, 
He  was  coming,  of  course,  to  read  the  papers,  and  this,  of 
all  the  coffee-houses  in  the  world,  was  the  one  he  must 
needs  sro  to!  AVhat  was  to  be  done?  Jack  could  not  hurt 
anybody's  feelings.  There  was  nothing  left  for  him  but  to 
bolt.  Accordingly,  after  hiding  his  face  with  the  news- 
])aper  till  Goodall  has  taken  up  another,  he  rushes  out  Jis 
if  a  sheriff  was  after  him. 

Jack,  congratulating  himself  that  he  had  neither  been 
seen  by  Goodall  nor  tasted  a  breakfast  unpaid  for,  has 
ordered  i)recisely  such  another  breakfast,  has  got  the  same 
newspaper  and  seated  himself  as  nearly  as  possible  in  the 
very  same  ])lace. 

"  Now,"  thought  he,  "  I  am  beyond  the  reach  of  chance. 


Selections  for  Reading.  153 

Goodall  cannot  read  tlic  papers  in  two  cofPee-honses.  By 
Jove!  was  ever  a  man  so  liungry  as  I  am?  What  a  break- 
fast I  shall  eat  I"' 

Enter  breakfast,  served  up  as  before. 

"  Glorious  moment!"  thinks  Jack  again. 

He  has  got  the  middle  slice  of  toast  in  his  fingers,  pre- 
cisely as  before,  Avhen  happening  to  look  up,  he  sees  the 
waiter  of  the  former  coifee-house  pop  his  head  in,  look  him 
full  in  the  face,  and  as  suddenly  Avithdraw  it.  Back 
goes  the  toast  on  the  plate;  up  springs  poor  Abbott  to  the 
door,  rushes  forth  for  the  second  time,  and  makes  as  fast 
as  he  can  for  a  third  coffee-house. 

"Am  I  never  to  breakfast?"  thought  ho.  "  Xay,  break- 
fast I  will.  People  can't  go  into  three  coffee-houses  on 
jiurpose  to  go  out  again.     What  a  breakfast  I  loill  eat!" 

Jack  Abbott,  after  some  delay,  owing  to  the  fulness  of 
the  room,  is  seated  as  before.  Tiie  waiter  has  "yessired" 
to  their  mutual  satisfaction;  the  toast  is  done,  eggs  plump, 
ham  huge,  etc.  etc. 

Unluckily,  three  pairs  of  eyes  were  observing  him  all  the 
wliile;  to  wit,  the  waiter's  of  the  first  tavern,  the  waiter's 
of  tlie  second,  and  the  landlord's  of  the  third.  They  were 
now  resolving  upon  a  course  of  action.  Jack  was  in  the 
very  agonies  of  hunger.  "  By  Hercules,  what  a  breakfast 
I  will,  shall,  must,  and  have  now  certainly  (jot  to  eat  !  I 
could  not  have  stood  it  any  longei-.  ±\oiv,  isrow,  XOW  is 
the  glorious  moment  of  moments."  Jack  took  np  a  slice  of 
the  toast  and — with  a  strange  look  of  misgiving  laid  it  down 
again, 

"  I'm  blessed  if  he's  touched  it,  after  all,"  said  waiter  the 
first.     "  Well,  this  beats  everything!" 

"He's  a  precious  rascal,  depend  on't,"  says  the  landlord. 
"We'll  nab  him.     Let  us  go  to  the  door!" 


in4  Selections  for  Reading. 

''I'll  be  hanged  if  ho  ain't  going  to  bolt  again!"  said  the 
second  waiter. 

"Search  his  pockets,"  said  the  landlord.  "Three 
breakfasts  and  not  one  eaten!" 

"AVliat  a  willain  !"  said  tiie  first  waiter. 

By  this  time  all  the  people  in  the  cofEee-house  had 
crowded  into  the  room,  and  a  plentiful  mob  was  gathering 
ut  the  door. 

"Here's  a  chap  has  had  three  breakfasts  this  morning," 
exclaimed  the  landlord. 

"Three  breakfasts!"  cried  a  dry-looking  man  in  specta- 
cles, "  how  could  he  possibly  do  that?" 

"  I  didn't  say  he'd  eaten  them.  I  said  he'd  ordered 
them  and  didn't  eat  them.  Three  breakfasts  in  three  dif- 
ferent houses,  I  tell  you.  He's  been  to  my  house,  and  to 
this  man's  house,  and  to  this  man's,  and  we've  searched  him 
and  he  hasn't  a  penny  in  his  pockets." 

"That's  it,"  cried  Jack,  who  had  vainly  attempted  to 
make  himself  heard,  "'  that's  the  very  reason." 

"What's  the  very  reason?"  inquired  the  gentleman  in 
spectacles. 

"  Why,  I  was  shocked  to  find,  just  now,  that  I  had  left 
my  ]iurse  at  home  in  the  hurry  of  coming  out,  and — " 

"'Oh,  oh,"  cried  the  laughing  audience,  "here's  the 
policeman!     He'll  settle  him."' 

"But  how  does  that  cxplaiji  tlic  other  two  breakfasts?" 
asked  the  gentleman. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Jack. 

"'  Imi)udent  rascal!''  said  the  landlord. 

"1  mean,"  said  he,  "that  iliat  doesn't  explain  it,  but  I 
can  explain  it." 

"  Well,  how?"  said  the  gentleman,  hushing  the  angry 
landlord,  who  h:ul  nieanwliilo  given  our  hero  in  chargCo 


Selections  for  Beading.  155 


*'  Don't  lay  hands  on  me  !"  cried  Jack.  "  I'll  go 
qnietly,  if  you  let  me  alone;  but  first  let  me  explain." 

"Hear  him,  hear  him!"  cried  the  spectators,  ''and 
watch  your  pockets!" 

Here  Jack  gave  a  rapid  statement  of  the  events  of  the 
morning.  This  only  excited  laughter  and  derision,  and 
our  hero  was  hustled  off,  and  in  two  minutes  found  liimself 
in  a  crowded  police-office. 

A  considerable  delay  took  place  before  the  landlord's 
charge  could  be  heard. 

"  Agony  of  expectation,"  groaned  poor  Jack,  "I'll  have 
bread  and  butter  when  I  breakfast — not  toast;  it's  more 
hearty,  and  besides  you  get  it  sooner;  and  yet,  0  table- 
cloth, 0  thick  slices,  0  tea,  when  shall  I  breakfast?" 

The  case  at  length  was  brought  on.  "  Well,  now,  you  sir, 
— Mr.  What's-your-name,"  quoth  the  magistrate,  "  what  is 
your  wonderful  explanation  of  this  very  extraordinary  habit 
of  taking  three  breakfasts,  sir?  You  seem  very  cool 
about  it." 

"Sir,"  answered  our  hero,  "it  is  out  of  no  disrespect  to 
you  that  I  am  cool.  You  may  well  be  surprised  at  the  cir- 
cumstances under  Avhich  I  find  myself,  but  in  addressing  a 
gentleman  and  a  man  of  understanding,  I  have  no  doubt 
he  Avill  discover  a  veracity  in  my  statement  which  has 
escaped  eyes  less  discerning."  So  Jack  gave  an  account  of 
the  whole  matter,  and  the  upshot  of  it  was  that  the  magis- 
trate not  only  proceeded  to  throw  the  greatest  ridicule  on 
the  charge,  but  gave  Jack  a  note  to  the  nearest  cofiiee- 
house,  desiring  the  tavern-keeper  to  furnish  the  gentleman 
with  a  breakfast  at  his  expense,  and  explaining  the  reason 
why. 

With  abundance  of  acknowledgments,  and  in  raptures  at 
the  now  certain  approach  of  the  bread    and  butter.  Jack 


156  Selections  for  lleadlnq. 


made  his  way  to  the  tavern.  "  At  lad  I  have  thee  I"  cried 
he  internally.  '*  0  most  fuf^acious  of  meals,  what  a  repast 
I  will  make  of  it!  What  a  breakfast  I  shall  have!  Never 
was  a  breakfast  so  intensified  P^ 

Jack  Abbott,  with  the  note  in  his  hand,  arrived  at  the 
tavern,  went  up  the  steps,  hurried  throuo-h  the  passage. 
Every  inch  of  the  Avay  was  full  of  hope  and  bliss,  when,  lo! 
whom  should  his  eyes  light  on  but  the  oilier  landlord  whom 
he  had  just  left  in  the  court-room,  detailing  his  version  of 
the  story  to  the  new  landlord,  and  evidently  poisoning  "his 
mind  with  every  syllable.  Eiiging  with  hunger  as  he  was, 
Jack  could  not  stand  this.  With  a  despair  for  which  he 
could  find  no  words,  he  turned  away  in  the  direction  of  his 
lawyer's.  "  Now  the  lawyer," quoth  he,  soliloquizing,  "was 
an  intimate  friend  of  my  father's,  so  intimate  that  if  he 
offers  me  breakfast  I  can  accept  it,  and  of  course  he  will. 
I  shall  jilainly  tell  him  that  I  prefer  breakfast  to  lunch;  in 
short,  that  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  have  it,  even  if  I 
wait  till  dinner-time  or  tea-time,  and  he'll  laugh,  and  we 
shall  be  jolly,  and  I  shall  get  something  to  eat  at  hist. 
Exquisite  moment  I     What  a  breakfast  I  sIkiU  eat!"' 

The  lawyer,  Mr.  Pallinson,  occupied  a  good  large  house, 
with  the  marks  of  ])lenty  on  it.  Jack  hailed  the  sight  of 
the  fire  blazing  in  the  kitchen.  '*  Delicious  spot!"  thouglit 
he,  •'  kettle,  pantry  and  all  that.  Hope  there  is  milk  left, 
and  bread  and  butter.     What  slices  I  toill  eat!" 

Bat  Jack  unfortunately  rang  the  bell  of  the  office,  in- 
stead of  the  house,  and  found  himself  among  a  parcel  of 
clerks.  Mr.  Pallinson  was  out;  was  not  expected  home 
till  evening.  Jack  in  desperation  stated  his  case.  No 
result  but,  "Very  strange,  sir,"  from  one  of  the  clerks. 
No  Mrs.  Pallinson  existed  to  whom  he  might  apply,  so, 
blushing  and   stammeiing  '' (lood-morning,"    Jack  found 

o  o  o 


Selections  for  Reading.  157 


liimself  out  again  in  the  wide  world  of  pavement  and 
houses.  The  clerks  had  told  him  that  Mi.  Pallinson 
always  dined  at  the  Mendall  coffee-house  when  away  on 
special  business,  and  towards  it  our  hero  turned  his  hun- 
gry and  melancholy  steps,  determined  to  wait  there  for 
him.  "Ah,"  thought  Jack,  with  a  sigh,  ••five  o'clock 
isn't  far  off,  and  then  I'm  certain.  What  a  breakfast  I 
sliall  have  when  it  does  come!  At  length  five  o'clock 
strikes,  and  at  the  same  moment  enters  Mr.  Pallinson.  He 
was  a  brisk,  good-humored  man,  who  greeted  Jack  heartily. 
'•  Here,  John,  plates  for  two!  You'll  dine,  of  course,  with 
your  father's  old  friend."  Jack's  heart  felt  itself  at  home 
with  this  cordiality,  and  he  at  once  entered  into  the  history 
of  his  morning.  The  good  and  merry  lawyer,  who  under- 
stood a  joke,  entered  heartily,  and  with  great  bursts  of 
laughter,  into  Jack's  whim  of  still  having  his  breakfast, 
and  it  was  accordingly  brought  up,  witli  an  explanation  to 
the  waiter  that  "his  friend  here  had  got  up  so  late,  and 
kept  such  fashionable  hours,  that  he  must  needs  breakfast 
while  he  himself  was  dining."  "And  so," said  the  shrewd 
attorney,  as  the  waiter  was  respectfully  bowing  himself  out, 
"  no  harm's  done,  and  now  peg  away."  Jack  did  not  wait 
for  a  second  l)iddin2:.  The  bread  and  butter  was  at  last 
actually  before  liim,  not  so  thick  as  he  had  pictured  it,  but 
as  the  waiter  had  turned  his  back  three  slices  could  be 
rolled  into  one.  This  arrangement  was  accordingly  made, 
the  mouth  was  ready  to  swallow — enter  Mr.  Goodall! 

"Breakfast  is  abolished  for  me,"  thought  Jack,  laying 
down  the  bread  and  butter,  "  there's  no  such  thing. 
Henceforth  I  will  not  attempt  it." 

The  lawyer  and  Mr.  Goodall  were  well  known  to  each  other, 
but  what  had  brought  him  thither  was  a  confused  storv. 
He  had  somehow  heard   of  a  Mr.  Abbott  having  ordered 


158  Selections  for  Heading. 

three  breakfasts  and  having  been  taken  to  jail.  He  had 
followed  him  np  from  place  to  place  till  he  found  him  in 
the  tavern. 

"I'm  very  glad  indeed,  sir,  to  find  you  so  comfortably 
sitnated,  after  the  story  that  half-witted  fellow  of  a  waiter 
told  me  at  the  coffee-house.  But  don't  let  mo  interrujit 
your  tea,  I  beg  of  you !" 

"  L'Uckiest  of  innocent  fancies,"  thought  our  hero,  "he 
thinks  I'm  at  tea!''  lie  plunged  again  at  the  bread  and 
butter.  He  was  really  breakfasting!  "I  beg  your  par- 
don," he  said,  with  his  mouth  full.  "I'm  eating  a  little 
too  fast, — but  may  I  trouble  you  for  that  loaf  ?  These 
slices  are  very  thin,  and  I'm  so  ravenously  hungry."  Jack 
doubled  his  thin  slices;  he  took  huge  bites;  he  swilled  his 
tea,  as  he  had  sworn  he  would;  he  had  eggs  on  one  side  of 
him,  ham  on  the  other,  his  friends  before  him,  and  was  as 
happy  as  a  prince  escaped  from  a  foreign  land;  and  when 
he  had  at  length  finished,  talking  and  langhing  all  the 
while,  or  hearing  talk  and  laughter,  he  pushed  the  break- 
fast-cup aside,  and  chuckled  to  himself,  "I've  had  it! 
Breakfast  hath  been  mine!  And  now,  my  dear  Mr.  Palliu- 
son,  I'll  take  a  glass  of  your  port!" 


MISS  EDITH   HELPS  THINGS  ALONG. 

BuET  Harte. 
"  jMy  sister'll  be  down  in  a  minute  and  saj'S  you're  to  wait,  if  you 

please, 
And  says  I  might  stay  till  she  came  if  I'd  ]ironiise  lier  never  to  tease, 
Nor  speak  till  you  spoke  to  me  lirst.     But  that's  nousense,  for  liow 

Avould  you  know 
What  she  told  mc  to  say  if  I  didn't?     Dou't  you  really  and  truly 

think  so? 


Selections  for  Beading.  159 


"  And  tlieu  you'd  feol  strange  bcre  alone!     And  you  wouldn't  know 

just  -where  to  sit; 
For  that  chair  isn't  strong  on  its  legs,  and  ice  never  use  it  a  bit. 
We  keep  it  to  match  with  the  sofa.     But  Jack  says  it  would  be  like 

you 
To  flop  yourself  right  down  upon  it,  and  knock  out  the  very  last 

screw. 

"  S'pose  you  try?    I  won't  tell.    You're  afraid  to!  Oh!  you're  afraid 

the)^  would  think  it  was  mean  ! 
Well,  then,  there's  the  album— that's  pretty,  if  you're  sure  that  your 

fingers  are  clean. 
For  sister  says  sometimes  I  daub  it,  but  she  only  says  that  when 

she's  cross. 
There's  her  picture.     You  know  it?    It's  like  her,  but  she  ain't  as 

good  looking  of  course! 

"This  is  ME.     It's  tlie  best  of  'email.     Now,  tell  me,  you'd  never 

have  thought 
That  once  I  was  little  as  that?     It's  the  only   one  that  could   be 

bought, 
For  that  was  the  message  to  pa  from  the  photograph  man  where  I 

sat— 
That  he  wouldn't  print  off  any  more  till  he  first  got  his  money  for 

that. 

"What?    Maybe  you're  tired  of  wailing.     Why,  often  she's  longer 

than  this. 
There's  all  her  back  hair  to  do  up,  and  all  of  her  front  curls  to  friz. 
But  it's  nice  to  be  sitting  here  talking  like  grown  people,  just  you 

and  me. 
Do  you  think  you'll  be  coming  here  often?     Oh,  do!     But  don't 

come  like  Tom  Lee. 

"Tom  Lee?    Her  last  beau.     Why,   my  goodness,  he  used  to  be 

here  day  and  night, 
Till  the  folks  thought  that  he'd  be  her  husband,  and  Jack  says  that 

gave  him  a  fright. 


160  Seleciloiis  fur  Heading. 

You  won't  *im  away  then,  as  he  did?  for  you're  not  a  ricli   man, 

they  say. 
Pa  says  you're  as  poor  as  a  church  mouse.     Now,  are  j^ou?     And 

how  poor  are  they? 

"Ain't  you  glad   lliat  you  met  me?     Well,  /am,  for  I  know  now 

j'ou're  hair  ian't  red; 
But  what  there  is  left  of  it's  mousy,  and  not  what  that  uaughty 

Jack  said. 
But  there!  I  must  go.     Sister's  coming.     But  I  wish  I  could   wait 

just  to  see 
If  she  ran  up  to  you  nnd  she  kissed  you  in  the  way  that  she  used  to 

kiss  Lee." — ludcpciideul. 


A  HISTORICAL  ADDRESS. 
DANiEii  Webster. 

Unbokn  ages  and  visions  of  glory  crowd  upon  my  sonl, 
the  realization  of  all  which,  however,  is  in  the  hands  and 
good  pleasure  of  Almighty  God;  but,  under  His  divine 
blessing,  it  will  be  dependent  on  the  character  and  the  vir- 
tues of  ourselves,  and  of  our  posterity.  \i  classical  history 
has  been  found  to  be,  is  now,  and  shall  continue  to  be,  the 
concomitant  of  free  institutions  and  of  popular  eloquence, 
what  a  Held  is  opening  to  us  for  another  Herodotus,  an- 
other Thucydides,  and  another  Livy! 

And  let  me  say,  gentlemen,  that  if  we  and  our  pos- 
terity shall  be  true  to  the  Christian  religion— if  avc  and 
ihey  shall  live  always  in  the  fear  of  God,  and  shall  respect 
His  comnnindments— if  we  and  they  shall  maintain  jnst, 
moral  sentiments,  and  such  conscientious  convictions  of 
diitv  as  shall  control  the  heart  and  life,  —we  may  have  the 


Selections  for  Reading.  161 

highest  hopes  of  the  future  fortunes  of  our  country;  and 
if  we  maintain  those  institutions  of  government  and  that 
political  union,  exceeding  all  praise  as  much  as  it  exceeds 
all  former  examples  of  political  associations,  we  may  be 
sure  of  one  thing— that,  while  our  country  furnishes  ma- 
terials for  a  thousand  masters  of  the  historic  art,  it  will 
afford  no  topic  for  a  Gibbon.  It  will  have  no  Decline  and 
Fall.     It  will  go  on  prospering  and  to  prosper. 

But,  if  we  and  our  posterity  reject  religious  instruc- 
tion and  authority,  violate  the  rules  of  eternal  justice, 
trifle  with  the  injunctions  of  morality,  and  recklessly 
destroy  the  political  constitution  which  holds  us  together, 
no  man  can  tell  how  sudden  a  catastrophe  may  overwhelm 
us,  that  shall  bury  all  our  glory  in  profound  obscurity. 
Should  that  catastrophe  happen,  let  it  have  no  history  ! 
Let  the  horrible  narrative  never  be  written!  Let  its  fate 
be  like  that  of  the  lost  books  of  Livy,  which  no  human  eye 
shall  ever  read;  or  the  missing  Pleiad,  of  which  no  man 
can  ever  know  more,  than  that  it  is  lost,  and  lost  forever! 

But,  gentlemen,  I  will  not  take  my  leave  of  you  in  a 
tone  of  despondency.  We  may  trust  that  Heaven  will  not 
forsake  us,  nor  permit  us  to  forsake  ourselves.  We  must 
strengthen  ourselves,  and  gird  up  our  loins  with  new  reso- 
lution; we  must  counsel  each  other;  and,  determined  to 
sustain  each  other  in  the  support  of  the  Constitution,  pre- 
pare to  meet  manfully,  and  united,  whatever  of  difficulty 
or  of  danger,  whatever  of  effort  or  of  sacrifice,  the  provi- 
dence of  God  may  call  upon  us  to  meet. 

Are  we  of  this  generation  so  derelict,  have  we  so  little 
of  the  blood  of  our  revolutionary  fathers  coursing  through 
our  veins,  that  we  cannot  preserve  what  they  achieved  ? 
The  world  will  cry  out  "  shame"  upon  us,  if  we  show  our- 
selves unworthy  to  be  the  descendants  of  those  great  and 


162  Selections  for  Reading. 

illustrious  men,  avIio  fought  for  their  liberty,  and  secured 
it  to  their  posterity,  by  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States. 

Gentlemen,  inspiring  auspices,  this  day,  surround  us 
and  cheer  us.  It  is  the  anniversary  of  the  birth  of  Wash- 
ington. We  should  know  this,  even  if  we  had  lost  our 
calendars,  for  we  should  be  reminded  of  it  by  the  shouts 
of  joy  and  gladness.  The  whole  atmosphere  is  redolent  of 
his  name;  hills  and  forests,  rocks  and  rivers,  echo  and  re- 
echo his  praises.  All  the  good,  Avhether  learned  or  un- 
learned, high  or  low,  rich  or  poor,  feel,  this  day,  that  there 
is  one  treasure  common  to  them  all,  and  that  is  the  fame 
and  character  of  Washington.  They  recount  his  deeds, 
ponder  over  his  principles  and  teachings,  and  resolve  to  be 
more  and  more  guided  by  them  in  the  future. 

To  the  old  and  the  young,  to  all  born  in  the  laud, 
and  to  all  whose  love  of  liberty  has  brought  them  from 
foreign  shores  to  make  this  the  home  of  their  adoption, 
the  name  of  Washington  is  this  day  an  exhilarating  theme. 
Americans  by  birth  are  proud  of  his  character,  and  exiles 
from  foreign  shores  are  eager  to  participate  in  admiration 
of  him;  and  it  is  true  that  he  is,  this  day,  here,  every- 
Avhere,  all  the  world  over,  more  an  object  of  love  and  re- 
gard than  on  any  day  since  his  birth. 

Gentlemen,  on  Washington's  principles,  and  under 
the  guidance  of  his  example,  will  we  and  our  children  up- 
hold the  Constitution.  Under  his  military  leadership  our 
fathers  conquered;  and  under  the  outspread  banner  of  hi? 
political  and  constitutional  principles  will  we  also  conquer. 
To  that  standard  we  shall  adhere,  and  uphold  it  through 
evil  rei)ort  and  through  good  report.  We  Avill  niect 
danger,  we  Avill  meet  death,  if  they  come,  in  its  protection; 
and  we  will  struggle  on,  in  daylight  and  in  darkness,  ay,  ia 


Selections  for  Reading.  163 

the  thickest  darkness,  with  all  the  storms  which  it  may 

bring  with  it,  till 

"  Danger's  troubled  night  is  o'er 
Aud  tiie  star  of  Peace  return." 


DRAFTED. 

Helen  L.  Bostwick. 

I. 

My  son!     What!    Drafted!    My  Harry!    Why  man,  'tis  a  boy  at  bis 

books. 
No  taller,  I'm  sure,  than  your  Annie — as  delicate,  too,  in  bis  looks. 
Why  it  seems  but  a  day  since  he  lielpcd  me,  girl  like,  in  my  kitchen, 

at  tasks. 
He  drafted!     Great  God,  can  it  be  that  our  President  knows  what 

he  asks? 

II. 
He  never  could  wrestle,  this  boy,  tho'  in  spirit  as  brave  as  the  best: 
Narrow-chested,  a  little,  you  notice,  like  him  who  has  long  been  at 

rest. 
Too  slender  for  over  much  study,  why,  his  master  has  made  him 

to  day 
Go  out  with  his  ball  ou  the  common,  aud  you've  drafted  a  child  at 

his  play! 

III. 

"  Not  a  patriot!"    Fie!    Did  1  whimper  when  Robert  stood  up  with 

his  gun, 
And  the  hero-l)lood  chafed  iu  his  forehead,  the  evening  we  heard  of 

Bull  Run. 
Pointing  his  finger  at  II;)rr3%  but  luruing  his  eyes  to  the  wall, 
"There's  a  staff  growing  up  for  your  age,  moliier,"  said  Rohcrl,  "If 

I  am  to  fall." 


164  Selections  for  Reading. 

IV. 

"  Eighteen?"   Oh,  I  know,  ^ntl  yet  narrowh';  just  a  wee  babe  on  the 

day 
When  his  father  got  up  from  a  sick-bed  and  cast  his  last  ballot  for 

Clay. 
Proud  of  his  boj^  and  his  ticket,  said  he,  "  A  new  morsel  of  fame 
We'll  lay  on  the  candidate's  altar,"  and  christened  the  child  with  hi;? 

name. 

V. 

Oh,  what  have  I  done,  a  weak  woman,  in  what  have  I  meddled  with 

harm 
(Troubling  only  my  God  for  the  sunshine  and  rain  on  my  rough 

little  farm), 
That  my  plowshares  are  beaten  to  swords,  and  whetted  before  my 

eyes; 
That  my  tears  must  cleanse  a  foul  nation,  my  lamb  be  a  sacrifice? 

VI. 

Oh,  'tis  true  there's  a  country  to  save,  man,  and  'tis  true  there  is  no 

appeal ; 
But  did  God  see  my  boy's  name  lying  the  uppermost  one  in  the 

wheel? 
Five  stalwart  sons  has  my  neighbor,  and  never  the  lot  upon  one; 
Are  these  things  Fortune's  caprices,  or  is  it  God's  will  that  is  done? 

VII. 

Are  the  others  too  precious  for  resting  where  Robert  is  taking  his 

rest, 
Willi  the  pictured  face  of  young  Annie  lying  over  the  rent  in  his 

breast? 
Too  tender  for  parting  with  sweethearts?     Too  fair  to  be  crippled  or 

scarred? 
My  boy  I     Thank  God  for  these  tears!  I  was  growing  so  bitter  and 

hard! 

VIII. 

Now  read  me  a  page  in  the  book,  ILury,  that  goes  in  your  knapsack 

to-night, 
Of  the  eye  that  sees  when  the  sparrow  grows  weary  and  falters  in 

flight; 


Selections  for  Reading.  165 


Talk  of  soinetliiug  that's  nobler  thau  living,  of  a  love  that  is  higher 
than  mine, 

And  faith  which  has  planted  its  banner  where  the  heavenly  camp- 
fires  shine. 

IX. 

Talk  of  something  that  watches  irs  softly  as  the  shadows  glide  down 

in  the  yard, 
That  shall  go  with  my  soldier  to  battle  and  stand  with  my  picket  on 

guard. 
Spirits  of  loving  and  lost  ones — watch  softly  with  Harry  to-night, 
For  to-morrow  he  goes  forth  to  battle — to  arm  him  for  Freedom  and 

Right! 


THE  CLASSIC  POETS. 
Henry  Nelson  Coleridge. 

I  AM  not  one  who  has  grown  old  in  literary  retirement, 
devoted  to  classical  studies  with  an  exclusiveness  which 
might  lead  to  an  overweening  estimate  of  those  two  noble 
languages.  Few,  I  will  not  say  evil,  were  the  days  allowed 
to  me  for  such  pursuits,  and  I  was  constrained,  still  young 
and  an  unripe  scholar,  to  forego  them  for  the  duties  of  an 
active  and  laborious  profession.  They  are  now  amusements 
only,  however  delightful  and  improving.  Far  am  I  from 
assuming  to  understand  all  their  riches,  all  their  beauty,  or 
all  their  j)ower  ;  yet  I  can  profoundly  feel  their  immeasur- 
able superiority  to  all  we  call  modern,  and  I  would  fain 
think  that  there  are  many  even  among  my  young  readers 
who  can  now,  or  will  hereafter,  sympathize  with  the  expres- 
sion of  my  ardent  admiration. 

Greek, — the  shrine  of  the  genius  of  the  old  world;  as  uni- 


166  Selections  for  Reading. 


vcrsal  as  our  race,  as  individual  as  ourselves;  of  infinite  flexi- 
bility, of  indefatigable  strength,  with  the  complication  and 
the  distinctness  of  nature  herself;  to  which  nothing  was 
vulgar,  from  which  nothing  was  excluded;  speaking  to  the 
ear  like  Italian,  speaking  to  the  mind  like  English;  with 
words  like  pictures,  with  words  like  the  gossamer  film  of 
the  summer;  at  once  the  variety  and  picturesqucuess  of 
Homer,  the  gloom  and  the  intensity  of  ^Eschylus;  not  com- 
pressed to  the  closest  by  Thucydides,  not  fathomed  to  the 
bottom  by  Plato,  not  sounding  with  all  its  thunders,  nor 
lit  up  with  all  its  ardors,  even  under  the  Promethean  touch 
of  Demosthenes! 

And  Latin, — the  voice  of  empire  and  of  war,  of  law  and 
of  the  state;  inferior  to  its  half-parent  and  rival  in  the 
embodying  of  passion  and  in  the  distinguishing  of  thought, 
but  equal  to  it  in  sustaining  the  measured  march  of  history, 
and  superior  to  it  in  the  indignant  declamation  of  moral 
satire;  stamped  with  the  mark  of  an  imperial  and  despotizing 
rejaublic;  rigid  in  its  construction,  parsimonious  in  its 
synonymes;  reluctantly  yielding  to  the  flowery  yoke  of 
Horace,  although  opening  glimpses  of  Greek-like  s})lcndor 
in  the  occasional  inspirations  of  Lucretius;  proved,  indeed, 
to  the  uttermost  by  Cicero,  and  by  him  found  wanting;  yet 
majestic  in  its  bareness,  impressive  in  its  conciseness;  the 
true  language  of  History,  instinct  with  the  spirit  of  nations, 
and  not  Avith  the  passions  of  individuals;  breathing  the 
maxims  of  the  world  and  not  the  tenets  of  the  schools;  one 
and  uniform  in  its  air  and  spirit,  whether  touched  by  the 
stern  and  haughty  Sallust,  by  the  open  and  discursive  Livy, 
by  the  reserved  and  thoughtful  Tacitus. 

These  inestimable  advantages,  which  no  modern  skill  can 
wholly  counterpoise,  are  known  and  felt  by  the  scholar 
alone.     He  has  not  failed,  in  the  sweet  and  silent  studies 


Selections  for  Reading.  167 

of  his  youth,  to  drink  deep  at  those  sacred  fountains  of  all 
that  is  Just  and  beautiful  iu  human  language.  The  thoughts 
and  the  words  of  the  master-spirits  of  Greece  and  Rome  are 
inseparably  blended  in  his  memory;  a  sense  of  their  marvel- 
lous harmonies,  their  exquisite  fitness,  their  consummate 
polisli,  has  sunken  forever  in  his  heart,  and  thence  tlirows 
out  light  and  fragrancy  upon  the  gloom  and  the  annoyances 
of  his  maturer  years.  No  avocations  of  professional  labor 
will  make  him  abandon  their  wholesome  study;  in  the  midst 
of  a  thousand  cares  he  will  find  an  hour  in  which  to  recur 
to  his  boyish  lessjns, — to  re-peruse  them  in  the  pleasurable 
consciousness  of  old  associations  and  in  the  clearness  of 
manly  judgment,  and  to  apply  them  to  himself  and  to  the 
world  with  superior  profit.  The  more  extended  his  sphere 
of  learning  in  the  literature  of  modern  Europe,  the  more 
deeply,  though  tlio  more  wisely,  will  he  reverence  that  of 
classical  antiquity;  and  in  declining  age,  Avhen  the  appetite 
for  magazines  and  reviews  and  the  ten  times  repeated  trash 
of  the  day  has  failed,  he  will  retire,  as  it  were,  within  a 
circle  of  schoolfellow  friends,  and  end  his  studies,  as  he 
began  them,  with  his  Homer,  his  Horace,  and  his  Shake- 
speare. 


THE  ART  OF  BOOK  KEEPING. 
TiroM.\s  IIooD. 

How  hard  wlicn  Uiose  wlio  do  not  wish 

To  lend,  thus  lose  their  books; 
Are  snared  by  .anglers,  folks  that  fish 

With  literary  "Hooks." 
Who  call  and  take  some  favorite  tome 

But  never  read  it  through; 
They  thus  complete  their  set  at  home 

By  making  one  at  you. 


168  Selections  for  Reading. 

I,  of  my  "  Spenser"  quite  bereft. 

Last  wiuter  sore  was  shaken; 
Of  "  Lnmb''  I've  but  a  quarter  left, 

Nor  could  I  save  my  "  Bacon." 
And  then  I  savr  my  "  Crabbe"  at  last, 

Like  ILunlet,  backward  go; 
And,  as  the  tide  was  ebbing  fast. 

Of  course  I  lost  my  "  Rowe." 

My  "  Mallet  "  served  to  knock  me  down, 

Which  makes  me  tiius  a  talker: 
And  once  when  I  was  out  of  town 

My  "Johnson"  proved  a  "Walker." 
"While  studying  o'er  ihe  fire  one  day 

My  "  Hobbes"  amidst  the  smoke, 
They  bore  my  "  Colman"  clean  away 

And  carried  off  my  "  Coke." 

They  picked  my  "  Locke,"  to  me  far  more 

Than  Bramah's  pateut  worth. 
And  now  my  losses  I  deplore 

Without  a  ' '  Home"  on  earth. 
If  once  a  book  you  let  them  lift 

Another  they  conceal, 
For  though  I  caught  them  stealing  "  Swift," 

As  swiftly  went  my  "  Steele." 

"  Hope"  is  not  now  upon  my  shelf 

Where  late  he  stood  elated; 
But  what  is  strange,  my  "  Pope"  liimsclf 

Is  excommunicated. 
My  little  "  Suckling"  in  the  grave 

Is  sunk  to  swell  the  ravage; 
And  what  was  Crusoe's  fate  to  save 

'Twas  mine  to  lose — a  "  Savage." 

Even  "  Glover's"  works  I  cannot  put 

My  frozen  hands  upon, 
Tliough  ever  since  I  lost  my  "  Foote" 

My  "  Bunyan"  has  been  gone; 


Selections  for  Reading.  169 

My  "  Hoyle"  with  "  Cotton"  went  oppressed, 

My  "Tjiylor,"  loo,  must  fail; 
To  save  iny  "  Goldsmith"  from  arrest 

In  vain  I  offered  "  Bayle." 

I  "  Prior"  sought,  but  could  not  see, 

The  "  Hood  "  so  late  in  front; 
And  when  I  turned  to  hunt  for  "  Lee," 

Oh!  wliere  was  my  "Leigh  Hunt"? 
I  tried  to  laugh,  old  care  to  tickle. 

Yet  could  not  "  Tickle"  touch; 
But  then,  alack!  I  missed  my  "  Mickle," 

And  surely  Mickle's  much. 

'Tis  quite  enough  my  grief  to  feed, 

My  sorrows  to  excuse. 
To  tliink  I  cannot  read  my  "  Reid  " 

Nor  even  use  my  "  Hughes." 
My  classics  would  not  quiet  lie, 

A  thing  so  fondly  hoped. 
Like  Dr.  Primose  I  may  cry 

My  "  Livy"  has  eloped. 

My  life  is  ebbing  fast  away, 

I  suffer  from  these  shocks; 
And  though  I  fixed  a  lock  on  "  Gray," 

There's  gray  upon  my  locks. 
I'm  far  from  "  Young,"  am  growing  pale, 

I  see  my  "Butler"  fly. 
And  when  they  ask  about  my  ail, 

'Tis  "Burton."  I  reply. 

They  still  have  made  me  slight  returns, 

And  thus  my  griefs  divide; 
For  oil!  they  cured  me  of  my  "  Burns," 

And  eased  my  "  Akenside." 
But  all  I  think  I  shall  not  say, 

Nor  let  ray  anger  burn, 
For  as  they  never  found  me  "  Gay  " 

They  have  not  left  me  "  Sterne." 


170  Selections  for  Heading. 


THE  MUSIC   OF   THE  TELEGRAPH  WIRES. 
Henry  D.  Tiiokeau, 

As  I  went  under  the  new  telegra]ih  wire,  I  heard  it 
vibrating  like  a  harp  high  over  liead;  it  was  as  the  sound 
of  a  far-off  glorious  life,  a  supernal  life  AvhicTi  came  down 
to  us  and  vibrated  the  lattice-work  of  this  life  of  ours — an 
Julian  harp.  It  reminded  me,  I  say,  with  a  certain 
pathetic  moderation,  of  what  finer  and  deeper  stirrings  I 
was  susceptible.  It  said.  Bear  in  mind,  child,  and  never 
for  an  instant  forget,  that  tliere  are  higlier.  planes  of  life 
than  this  thou  art  now  travelling  on.  Know  that  the  goal 
is  distant,  and  is  upward.  There  is  every  degree  of  in- 
spiration, from  mere  fulness  of  life  to  the  most  rapt  mood. 
A  human  soul -is  played  on  even  as  this  wire;  I  make  my 
own  use  of  the  telegraph,  without  consulting  the  directors, 
like  the  sparrows,  which,  I  observe,  use  it  extensively  for  a 
perch.  Shall  I  not,  too,  go  to  this  office?  TJie  sound  pro- 
ceeds from  near  the  posts,  where  the  vibration  is  apparently 
more  rapid.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  every  jiore  of  the  wood 
was  fdled  with  music.  As  I  put  my  ear  to  one  of  the 
posts,  it  labored  with  the  strains,  as  if  every  lihre  was 
affected,  and  being  seasoned  or  timed,  rearranged  accord- 
ing to  a  new  and  more  harmonious  law;  every  swell  and 
change  and  inllection  of  tone  pervaded  it,  and  seemed  to 
proceed  from  the  wood,  the  divine  tree  of  wood,  as  if  its 
very  substance  was  transmuted. 

What  a  recipe  for  ])reserving  wood,  to  fill  its  pores  with 
music  !  How  this  wild  tree  from  the  forest,  stri])ped  of  its 
bark  and  set  up  here,   rejoices  to    transmit  this    music. 


Selections  for  Reading.  171 

When  no  melody  proceeds  from  the  wire,  I  hear  the  hum 
within  the  entrails  of  the  wood,  the  oracular  tree,  acquir- 
ing, accumulating  the  prophetic  fury.  The  resounding 
wood — how  much  the  ancients  would  have  made  of  it!  To 
liave  had  a  harp  on  so  great  a  scale,  girdling  the  very  earth, 
and  played  on  by  the  winds  of  every  latitude  and  longitude, 
and.  that  harp  were  (so  to  speak)  the  manifest  blessing  of 
Heaven  on  a  work  of  man's.  Shall  we  not  now  add  a  tenth 
muse  to  those  immortal  nine,  and  consider  that  this  inven- 
tion was  most  divinely  honored  and  distinguished,  upon 
which  the  muse  has  thus  condescended,  to  smile — this 
magic  medium  of  communication  Avith  mankind? 

To  read,  that  the  ancients  stretched,  a  Avire  round  the 
earth,  attaching  it  to  the  trees  of  the  forest,  on  which  they 
sent  messages  by  one  named  Electricity,  father  of  Lightning 
and  Magnetism,  swifter  far  than  Mercury — the  stern  com- 
mands of  Avar  and  ncAvs  of  peace;  and  that  the  Avinds 
caused  this  Avire  to  vibrate,  so  that  it  emitted  a  harp-like  and 
^olian  music  in  all  the  lands  through  Avhich  it  23assed,  as 
if  to  express  the  satisfaction  of  the  gods  in  this  iuA^ention! 
And  this  is  fact,  and  yet  Ave  have  attributed  the  instru- 
ment to  no  god.  I  hear  the  sound  Avorking  terribly  Avith- 
in.  When  I  put  my  ear  to  it  anon  it  swells  into  a  clear 
tone,  which  seems  to  concentrate  in  the  core  of  the  tree, 
for  all  the  sound  seems  to  proceed  from  the  Avood.  It  is  as 
if  you  liad  entered  some  world-cathedral,  resounding  to 
some  vast  organ.  Tlie  fibres  of  all  things  haA'c  their  ten- 
sion, and  are  strained  like  the  strings  of  a  lyre.  I  feel  the 
very  ground  tremble  underneath  my  feet,  as  I  stand  near 
the  post.  The  Avire  vibrates  Avith  great  power,  as  if  it 
would  strain  and  rend  the  AVOod.  W'lat  an  aAvful  and  fate- 
ful music  it  must  be  to  the  worms  in  the  Avood.  No  better 
vermifuge  Avere  needed.     As  the  Avood  of  an  old  cremona, 


173  Selections  for  Reading. 

its  every  fibre,  perchance,  harmoniously  transposed  and 
educated  to  resound  melody,  has  brought  a  great  price,  so 
niethinks  these  telegraph  posts  should  bear  a  gi'oat  price 
with  musical-instrument  makers.  It  is  prepared  to  be  the 
material  of  harps  for  ages  to  come;  as  it  were,  put  asoak 
in  and  seasoning  in  music. 


SHARED. 
Lucy  Larcom:. 


I  SAID  it  in  Ibe  meadow-path, 
I  said  it  ou  the  mountain-stairs; 

The  best  tilings  any  mortal  hath 

Are  those  which  every  mortal  shares. 

The  air  we  breathe,  the  sk}',  the  breeze, 
The  light  without  us  and  within, 

Life,  with  its  unlocked  treasuries, 
God's  riches,  are  for  all  to  win. 

The  grass  is  softer  to  my  tread 
For  rest  it  yields  unnumbered  feet; 

Sweeter  to  me  the  wild  rose  red. 
Because  she  makes  the  whole  world  sweet. 

Into  your  heavenly  loneliness 
Ye  welcomed  me,  O  solemn  peaks! 

And  me  in  every  guest  you  bless 
Who  reverently  your  mystery  seeks. 

And  up  the  radiant  peopled  way 
That  opens  into  worlds  unknown, 

It  will  be  life's  delight  to  say, 
"Heaven  is  not  heaven  for  me  alone." 


Selections  for  Reading.  173 


Rich  through  my  brethren's  poverty! 

Such  wealth  were  hideous!     I  am  blest 
Only  ia  what  they  share  with  me, 

In  what  I  share  with  all  the  rest. 

—  Good  Coinpan>j. 


HISTORY. 
James  Anthony  Froude. 


History,  the  subject  with  which  my  own  life  has  been 
mainly  occupied,  is  concerned  as  much  as  science  with  ex- 
ternal facts.  History  depends  upon  exact  knowledge;  on 
the  same  minute,  impartial,  discriminating  observation  and 
analysis  of  particulars  which  is  equally  the  basis  of  science. 

Historical  facts  are  of  two  kinds;  the  veritable  outward 
fact — whatever  it  was  that  took  place  in  the  order  of  things 
— and  the  account  of  it  which  has  been  brought  down  to 
us  by  more  or  less  competent  persons.  The  first  we  must 
set  aside  altogether.  The  eternal  register  of  human  action 
is  not  open  to  inspection;  Ave  are  concerned  wholly  with  the 
second,  which  are  facts  also,  though  facts  different  in  kind 
from  the  other.  The  business  of  the  historian  is  not  Avith 
immeiliate  realities  Avhich  Ave  can  see  or  handle,  but  with 
combinations  of  reality  and  human  thought  Avhich  it  is  his 
business  to  analyze  and  separate  into  their  component 
/larts.  So  far  as  he  can  distinguish  successfully  he  is  a 
historian  of  truth;  so  far  as  he  fails,  he  is  the  historian  of 
opinion  and  tradition. 

It  is,  I  believe,  a  received  principle  in  such  sciences  as 
deal  with  a  past  condition  of  things,  to  explain  everything, 


174  Selections  for  Heading. 

wherever  possible,  by  the  instrumentality  of  causes  which 
are  now  in  operation.  Geologists  no  longer  ascribe  tlie 
changes  which  have  taken  place  in  the  earth's  surface 
either  to  the  interference  of  an  external  power  or  to  vio- 
lent elemental  convulsions,  of  which  we  have  no  experience. 
Causes  now  visibly  acting  in  various  parts  of  the  uiiivei'se 
will  interpret  most,  if  not  all,  of  the  iihenomena;  and  to 
these  it  is  the  tendency  of  science  more  and  more  to  ascribe 
them. 

In  the  remotest  double  star  which  the  telescope  can 
divide  for  us,  we  see  working  the  same  familiar  forces 
which  govern  the  revolutions  of  the  planets  of  our  own 
system.  The  spectrum  analysis  finds  the  vapors  and  the 
metals  of  earth  in  the  aurora  and  in  the  nucleus  of  a  comet. 
Simihirly  we  have  no  reason  to  believe  that  in  the  past  con- 
dition of  the  earth,  or  of  the  earth's  inhabitants,  there 
were  functions  energizing  of  which  we  have  no  modern 
counterparts. 

At  the  dawn  of  civilization,  when  men  began  to  observe 
and  think,  they  found  themselves  in  ]io?scssion  of  various 
faculties — first  their  five  senses,  and  then  imagination, 
fancy,  reason,  and  memory.  They  did  not  distinguish  one 
from  the  other.  They  did  not  know  Avliy  one  idea  of 
Avhich  they  Avere  conscious  should  be  more  true  than  an- 
other. They  looked  i-ound  them  in  continual  surpi-ise, 
conjecturing  fantastic  explanations  of  all  they  s;wv  and 
heard.  Their  traditions  and  their  theories  blended  one 
intoanothei',  and  their  cosmogonies,  their  philosophies,  and 
their  histories  are  all  alike  imaginative  and  poetical.  It 
was  never  perhaps  seriously  believed  as  a  scientific  reality 
that  the  sun  was  llic  chariot  of  Apollo,  or  that  Saturn  had 
devoured  his  children,  or  that  Sicgfred  had  been  batlied  in 
the  dragon's  blood,  or  that  earthcpiake?  and  volcanoes  were 


Selections  for  Heading.  175 

caused  by  buried  giants,  who  were  snorting  and  tossing  in 
their  sleep;  but  also  it  was  not  disbelieved. 

The  original  historian  and  the  original  man  of  science 
was  alike  the  poet.  Before  the  art  of  writing  Avas  in- 
vented, exact  knowledge  was  impossible.  The  poet's 
business  was  to  throw  into  beautiful  shapes  the  current 
opinions,  traditions,  and  beliefs;  and  the  gifts  required  of 
him  were  simply  memory,  imagination,  and  music.  Each 
celebrated  minstrel  sang  his  stories  in  his  own  way,  adding 
to  them,  shaping  them,  coloring  them,  as  suited  his  pecu- 
liar genius.  The  Iliad  of  Homer,  the  most  splendid  com- 
position of  this  kind  Avhich  exists  in  the  Avorld,  is  simply  a 
collection  of  ballads.  The  tale  of  Troy  was  the  heroic 
story  of  Greece,  which  every  tribe  modified  or  re-arranged. 

The  chronicler  is  not  a  poet  like  his  predecessor.  He 
docs  not  shape  out  consistent  pictures  with  a  beginning,  a 
middle,  and  an  end.  He  is  a  narrator  of  events  and  he 
connects  them  on  a  chronological  string.  He  professes  to 
be  relating  facts.  He  is  not  idealizing;  he  is  not  singing 
the  praises  of  heroes;  he  means  to  be  true  in  the  literal  and 
commonplace  sense  of  that  ambiguous  Avord.  Yet  in  his 
earlier  phases,  take  him  in  ancient  Egypt  or  Assyria,  in 
Greece  or  in  Rome,  or  in  modern  Europe,  he  is  but  a  step 
in  advance  of  his  predecessor.  He  never  speculates  about 
causes;  but  on  the  other  hand  he  is  uncritical.  He  takes 
unsuspectingly  the  materials  Avhich  he  finds  ready  to  his 
hand — the  national  ballads,  the  romances,  and  the  biogra- 
phies. Thus  the  chronicle,  however  charming,  is  often 
nothing  but  poetry  taken  literally  and  translated  into 
prose.  It  grows,  however,  and  improves  insensibly  with 
the  growth  of  the  nation,  and  becomes  at  last  perhaps  the 
very  best  kind  of  historical  Avriting  which  has  yet  been  pro- 
duced. 


176  Selections  for  Beading. 


Neither  history  nor  any  other  knowledge  c;in  be  obtained 
except  by  scientific  methods.  A  constructive  philosojihy 
of  it,  however,  is  as  yet  impossible,  and  for  the  present, 
and  for  a  long  time  to  come,  we  shall  be  confined  to  ana- 
lysis. First  one  cause  and  then  another  has  interfered 
from  the  beginning  of  time  with  a  correct  and  authentic 
chronicling  of  events  and  actions.  Superstition,  hero-wor- 
ship, ignorance  of  the  laws  of  probability;  religious,  politi- 
cal, or  speculative  prejudice — one  or  other  of  these  has 
tended  from  the  beginning  to  give  us  distorted  jiictures. 

The  most  perfect  English  history  which  exists  is  to  be 
found  in  my  opinion  in  the  historical  plays  of  Shakespeare. 
In  these  plays,  rich  as  they  are  in  fancy  and  imagination, 
the  main  bearings  of  the  national  story  are  scrupulously 
adhered  to,  and  whenever  attainable,  verbal  correctness. 
Sbakespeare's  object  was  to  exhibit  as  faithfully  as  he  pos- 
sibly could  the  exact  character  of  the  great  actors  in  the 
national  drama,  the  circumstances  which  surrounded  them, 
and  the  motives,  internal  and  external,  by  which  they  were 
influenced.  Shakespeare's  attitude  towards"  human  life 
will  become  again  attainable  to  us  only  when  intelligent 
people  can  return  to  an  agreement  on  first  principles;  when 
the  common  sense  of  the  wisest  and  best  among  us  has 
superseded  the  theorizing  of  parties  and  factions;  Avhcn 
the  few  but  all-important  truths  of  our  moral  condition, 
■which  can  be  certainly  known,  have  become  the  exclusive 
rule  of  our  judgments  and  actions. 


Selections  for  Reading.  177 


LOSSES. 
Frances  Bkown. 

Upon  the  white  sea-sand 

There  sat  a  pilgrim  band 
Telling  the  losses  that  their  lives  had  known. 

While  evening  waned  away 

From  breezy  cliff  and  bay 
And  the  strong  tides  went  out  willi  weary  moan. 

One  spake  with  quivering  lip 

Of  a  fair  freighted  ship 
With  all  liis  household  to  the  deep  gone  down. 

But  one  had  wiUier  woe — 

For  a  fair  face,  long  ago 
Lost  iu  the  darker  depths  of  a  great  town. 

There  were  who  mourned  their  youth 

With  a  most  loving  ruth, 
For  its  brave  hopes  and  memories  ever  green ; 

And  one  upon  the  west 

Turned  an  eye  that  would  not  rest, 
For  far-off  hills  whereon  its  joy  had  been. 

Some  talked  of  vanished  gold, 

Some  of  proud  honors  told, 
Some  spake  of  friends  tiiat  were  their  trust  no  more; 

And  one  of  u  green  grave 

Beside  a  foreign  wave, 
Tiiat  made  liim  sit  so  lonely  on  the  shore. 

But  when  their  tales  were  done 

There  came  among  them  one, 
A  stranger  seeming  fi'om  all  sorrow  free; 

"  Sad  losses  have  ye  met, 

But  mine  is  heavier  yet; 
For  a  believing  heart  has  gone  from  me." 


178  Selections  for  Reading. 


"Alas!"  these  pilgrims  said, 

"  For  the  living  aud  tlie  dead — 
For  fortune's  cruelty,  for  love's  sure  cross. 

For  the  wrecks  of  land  and  sea. 

But,  howe'er  it  came  to  thee, 
Thine,  stranger,  is  life's  last  and  heaviest  loss." 


THE   SEA. 

M.    J.    illCHELET. 


The  imaginatiye  Orientals  cull  the  sea  the  Night  of  the 
Depths.  In  all  the  antique  tongues  from  India  to  Ireland, 
the  synonymous  or  analogous  name  of  tlic  sea  is  either  ]!s  ight 
or  Desert. 

Descend  to  even  a  slight  depth  in  the  sea  and  the  beauty 
and  brilliancy  of  the  up}>er  light  are  lost;  you  enter  into  a 
l)ersistent  twiliglit  and  misty  and  half-lurid  haze;  a  little 
lower  and  even  that  sinister  and  eldritch  twilight  is  lost, 
and  all  around  you  is  night,  showing  nothing,  but  suggest- 
ino-  evervthinsr  that  darkness — hand-maiden  of  terrible 
fancy — can  suggest.  Above,  below,  all  around,  darkness, 
utter  darkness,  save  when,  from  time  to  time,  the  swift 
and  graceftilly  terrible  motion  of  some  passing  monster  of 
tlie  deep  makes  "darkness  visible"  for  a  brief  moment  and 
then  that  passing  gleam  leaves  you  in  darkness  more  dense, 
more  utter,  more  terrible  than  ever.  Immense  in  its  ex- 
tent, enormous  in  its  depth,  that  mass  of  waters  which 
covers  the  greater  part  of  our  globe  seems  in  trnth  a  great 
world  of  shadows  and  of  gloom.  And  it  is  that  which 
above  all  at  once  fascinates  and  intimidates  us.  Darkness 
and  Fear!    Twin   sisters,  they!     In   the  early  day,  the  at 


Selections  for  Heading.  179 

once  timid  and  unreasoning  childhood  of  our  race,  men 
imagined  that  where  no  Light  Avas  neither  could  there  be 
Life;  that  in  the  unfathomed  depths  there  was  a  black,  life- 
less, soundless  Chaos;  above,  naught  but  Avaterand  gloom; 
beneath,  sand  and  shells,  the  bones  of  the  wrecked  mariner, 
the  rich  wares  of  the  far-off,  ruined,  and  vainly  bewailing 
merchant — those  sad  treasures  of  that  "ever-receiving  and 
never-restoring  treasury — the  Sea." 

Opaque,  heavy,  mighty,  merciless,  your  sea  is  a  liquid 
Polyphemus,  a  blind  giant  that  cares  not,  reasons  not,  feels 
not,  but  hits  a  terribly  hard  blow.  Not  a  nation  upon  the 
earth  but  has  its  tales  and  traditions  of  the  sea.  Homer 
and  the  Arabian  NigJits  have  handed  down  to  us  a  goodly 
number  of  those  frightful  legends  of  shoals,  of  tempests, 
and  of  calms  no  less  murderous  than  tempests — those  calms 
during  which  the  hardiest  sailor  agonizes,  moans,  loses  all 
courage  and  all  hope  in  the  tortures  of  the  hours,  days,  and 
even  weeks — heaving  upward  and  sinking  downward,  but 
never  progressing  a  cable's  length. 

The  name  given  to  the  great  Africans  desert — The  Abode 
of  Terror — may  be  justly  transferred  to  the  sea.  The  bold- 
est sailors,  Phoenicians  and  Carthaginians,  the  conquering 
Arabs  who  aspired  to  grasp  the  whole  world,  lured  by  what 
they  heard  of  the  Hesperides  and  the  land  of  gold,  sailed 
out  of  the  Mediterranean  to  the  wide  ocean,  but  soon  were 
glad  to  seek  their  port  again.  The  gloomy  line  eternally 
covered  with  clouds  and  mist  which  they  found  keeping 
their  stern  watch  intimidated  them.  They  lay  to;  they 
hesitated;  from  man  to  man  ran  the  murmur,  "It  is  the 
Sea  of  Darkness," — and  then  back  went  they  to  port,  and 
there  told  to  wondering  landsmen  what  wonders  they  had 
seen  and  what  horrors  they  had  imagined.  Woe  to  him 
who  shall  persist  in  his  sacrilegious  espionage  of  that  dread 


180  Selections  for  Reading. 


region!  On  one  of  those  weird  and  far  isles  stands  a 
sternly  threatening  Colossus  Avhose  menace  is,  "Thus  far 
thou  hast  come;  farther  thou  shalt  not  go!" 

The  sublimit}^  of  the  early  navigators  lay  in  their  blind 
courage  and  desperate  resolution.  They  knew  but  little  of 
the  sea,  and  of  the  heavens  they  knew  still  less;  the  com- 
pass their  only  instructor  and  their  only  reliance,  they 
dared  the  most  alarming  phenomena  without  being  able  even 
to  guess  at  their  causes.  They  had  none  of  our  instru- 
ments which  speak  to  us  so  plainly  and  so  unmistak- 
ably. They  went  blindfolded  towards,  and  fearlessly  into, 
the  uttermost  darkness.  They  themselves  confess  that  they 
feared,  but  also  that  they  would  not  yield.  The  sea's  tem- 
pests; the  air's  whirlwinds  and  waterspouts;  the  tragic  dia- 
logues of  those  two  oceans,  air  and  water;  the  striking  and, 
not  so  long  since,  ominous  phenomena  of  the  Aurora  Bore- 
alis, — all  this  strange  and  wild  phantasmagoria  seemed  to 
tliem  the  fury  of  irritated  nature,  a  veritable  strife  of 
demons  against  which  men  could  dare  all — as  they  did — 
but  could  do — what  they  also  did — nothing. 

A  great  age,  a  Titanic  age,  the  nineteenth  century,  has 
coolly,  intelligently,  and  sternly  noted  all  those  phenomena 
which  the  old  navigators  braved  but  did  not  examine.  In 
this  century  it  is  that  we  for  the  first  time  have  dared  to 
look  the  Tempest  squarely,  fearlessly,  and  scrutinizingly  in 
the  eyes.  Its  premonitory  symptoms,  its  characteristics, 
its  results,  each  and  all  have  been  calmly  watched,  carefully 
and  systematically  registered.  From  that  registration 
naturally  comes  explanation  and  generalization,  and  thence 
the  grand,  bold,  and,  as  our  not  very  distant  ancestors  would 
have  said,  impious  system — the  Law  of  Storms! 

So!  What  we  took — what  we  in  the  old.  bold,  but  blind 
day  took  for  matter  of  caprice  is  really,  after  all.  reducible 


Sdectlons  for  ReaxUng.  181 

to  a  system,  obedient  to  a  law!  So!  Then  tlinse  terrible 
facts  that  made  the  brain  swim  and  the. heart  quail,  because 
fighting  shadows  and  walking  in  darkness, — so!  then  those 
terrible  facts  have  a  certain  regularity  of  occurrence,  and 
the  seaman,  resolute  and  strong,  calmly  considers  whether 
he  cannot  oppose  to  those  regular  attacks  a  defence  no  less 
regular. 

This  is  truly  sublime.  The  Tempest  is  not  abolished, 
but  ignorance,  bewilderment,  that  terrible  bewilderment 
born  of  danger  and  darkness,  are  abolished.  At  least  if 
the  seaman  of  the  present  day  perish,  he  can  know  the 
why  and  wherefore.  Great  is  the  safeguai'd  of  calm,  clear 
presence  of  mind  with  soul  and  intellect  unrufltied  and  re- 
signed to  whatever  may  be  the  effect  of  the  great  divine 
laws  of  the  world,  which  at  the  expense  of  a  few  shipwrecks 
produce  Safety  and  Equilibrium. 


"THE  REVENGE:'  A  BALLA.D   OF  THE   FLEET. 
Alfred  Tennyson. 

r. 

At  Flores,  in  tlie  Azores.  Sir  Richard  Grenville  lay, 
And  a  pinnace,  like  a  fluttered  bird,  came  flying  from  far  away: 
"Spanisli  ships  of  war  at  sea!  we  have  sighted  fifty-three!" 
Then  sware  Lord  Tliomas  Howard--   "  'Fore  God  I  am  uo  coward; 
But  I  cannot  meet  tliem  here,  for  my  sliips  are  out  of  gear, 
And  the  half  my  men  are  sicl<.     I  must  fly,  but  follow  quick. 
"We  are  six  ships  of  the  line;  can  we  fight  with  fiftj-three?" 

II. 

Then  spake  Sir  Richard  Grenville:  "I  know  j'ou  are  no  coward; 

You  fly  them  for  a  moment  to  fight  with  them  again. 

But  I've  ninety  men  and  more  that  are  lying  sick  ashore. 

I  should  count  myself  the  coward  if  I  left  them,  my  Lord  Howard, 

To  these  Inquisition  dogs  and  the  devildoms  of  Spain." 


182  Selections  for  Read  in  g. 


iir. 

So  Lord  Howard  passed  away  with  five  sliips  of  war  that  day, 

Till  he  melted  like  a  cloud  iu  tlie  silent  summer  heaven; 

But  Sir  Richard  bore  iu  hand  all  his  siclv  men  from  the  land 

Very  carefully  and  slow, 

Men  of  Bideford  in  Devon, 

And  we  laid  them  on  the  ballast  down  below; 

For  we  brought  them  all  aboard, 

And  ihey  blest  him  in  their  pain,  that  they  were  not  left  to  Spain, 

To  the  thumbscrew  and  the  stake,  for  the  glory  of  the  Lord. 

IV. 

He  had  only  a  hundred  seamen  to  work  the  ship  and  to  fight. 

And  he  sailed  away  from  Flores  till  the  Spaniard  came  in  sight, 

With  his  huge  sea-castles  heaving  upon  the  weather  bow. 

"Shall  we  fight  or  shall  we  fly? 

Good  Sir  Richard,  let  us  know, 

For  to  fight  is  but  to  die! 

There'll  be  little  of  us  left  by  the  lime  this  sun  be  set." 

And  Sir  Richard  said  again:  "  We  be  all  good  English  men. 

Let  us  bang  these  dogs  of  Seville,  the  children  of  the  devil, 

For  1  never  turned  my  back  upon  Don  or  devil  yet." 

V. 

Sir  Richard  spoke  and  ho  lauglied,  and  we  roared  a  hurrah,  and  so 
The  little  "  Revenge"  ran  on  sheer  into  the  heart  of  the  foe, 
With  her  hundred  fighters  on  deck,  and  her  ninety  sick  below; 
For  half  of  their  fleet  to  the  right  and  half  to  the  left  were  seen, 
And  the  little  "Revenge"  ran  on  through  the  long  sea  lane  between. 

VI. 

Thousands  of  their  .soldiers  looked  down  from  their  decks  and  laughed, 
Tiiousands  of  their  seamen  made  mock  at  the  mad  little  craft 
Running  on  and  on,  till  delayed 

By  their  mountain-like  "  San  Philip"  that,  of  fifteen  hundred  tons, 
And  up-shadowing  high  above  us  with  her  yawning  tiers  of  guns. 
Took  tlie  breath  from  our  sails,  and  we  stayed. 


Selections  for  Reading.  183 


VII. 

And  while  now  tlic  great  "  San  Philip"  hung  above  us  like  a  cloud 

Wlieiioc  the  thunderbolt  will  fall 

Long  and  loud, 

Four  galleons  drew  away 

From  the  Spanish  fleet  that  day, 

A-nd  two  upon  the  larboard  and  two  upon  the  starboard  lay, 

A.nd  the  battle-thunder  broke  from  them  all. 

vin. 

But  anon  the  great  "  San  Philip,"  she  bethought  herself  and  went 
Having  that  within  her  womb  that  had  left  her  ill-content; 
A-ud  the  rest  they  came  aboard  us,  and  they  fought  us  hand  to  hand, 
For  a  dozen  times  they  came  with  tlieir  pikes  and  musqueteers, 
And  a  dozen  times  we  shook  'em  off  as  a  dog  tliat  shakes  his  ears 
JVhen  he  leaps  from  the  water  to  the  land. 

IX. 

And  the  sun -went  down,  and  the  stars  came  out  far  over  the  summer 

sea, 
But  never  a  moment  ceased  the  fight  of  the  one  and  the  fifty-three. 
Ship  after  ship,  the  whole  night  long,  their  high-built  galleons  came, 
Ship  after  ship,  the  Avhole  night  long,  with  her  battle-thunder  and 

flame ; 
Ship  after  ship,  the  whole  idght  long,  drew  back  with  her  dead  and 

her  sliiune. 
For  some  were  sunk  and  many  were  shattered,  and  so  could  fight  U3 

no  more — 
God  of  battles,  was  e*'er  a  battle  like  this  in  the  world  before? 

X. 

For  he  said,  "Fight  on!  fight  on!" 

Though  his  vessel  was  all  but  a  wreck; 

And  it  chanced  that,  when  half  of  the  summer  night  was  gone, 

With  a  grisly  wound  to  be  dressed  he  hij,d  left  the  deck. 

But  a  bullet  struck  him  that  was  dressing  it  suddenly  dead, 

And  himself  lrt3  was  wounded  again  in  the  side  and  the  head, 

And  he  said,  "Fight  on!  fight  on!" 


184  Selections  for  liead'nig. 


XX. 

And  tiie  night  went  down,  and  the  sun  smiled  out  fur  over  tlie  sum- 
mer sea. 

And  llie  Spnnisii  fleet  witli  broken  sides  liiy  round  us  all  in  a  ring; 

But  tliey  dared  not  touch  us  again,  for  they  feared  tlnit  we  still  could 
sting, 

So  they  watched  what  the  end  would  be. 

And  we  had  not  fought  them  in  vain. 

But  in  perilous  plight  were  we. 

Seeing  forty  of  our  poor  hundred  were  slain, 

And  half  of  the  rest  of  us  maimed  for  life 

In  the  crash  of  the  cannonades  and  the  desperate  strife; 

And  the  sick  men  down  in  the  hold  were  most  of  them  stark  and  cold, 

And  the  pikes  were  all  broken  or  bent,  and  the  powder  was  all  of  it 
spent; 

And  the  masts  and  the  rigging  were  lying  over  the  side; 

But  Sir  Richard  cried  in  his  English  pride, 

"  We  have  fought  such  a  figiit  for  a  d-.iv  and  a  night 

As  may  never  be  fought  again! 

"We  have  won  great  glory,  my  men!  ' 

And  a  daj'^  less  or  more 

At  sea  or  ashore. 

We  die — does  it  matter  when? 

Sink  me  the  ship,  jVIaster  Gunner— sink  her.  split  her  in  twain! 

Fall  into  the  hands  of  God,  not  into  the  hands  of  Spain!'' 

xir. 

And  the  gunner  said,  "Ay,  ay.''  but  the  seamen  made  reply: 

"  We  have  children,  we  have  wives, 

And  the  Lord  hath  spared  oiu*  lives. 

We  will  make  the  Spaniard  promise,  if  we  yield,  to  let  us  go; 

We  shall  live  to  fight  again  and  to  strike  another  blow." 

And  the  lion  there  lay  dying,  and  they  yielded  to  the  foe. 

XIII. 

And  the  stately  Spanish  men  to  their  flagship  bore  him  then. 
Where  they  laid  him  Ity  the  mast,  old  Sir  Richard  caught  at  last. 
And  they  praiseddiim  to  his  face  witli  llieir  courtly  foreign  grace; 
But  he  rose  upon  their  decks,  and  he  cried: 


Selections  for  Reading.  18o 

"  I  have  fought  for  Queen  and  Faith  like  a  valiant  man  and  true; 
1  have  only  done  my  duty  as  a  man  is  bound  to  do: 
With  a  joyful  spirit  1  Sir  Richard  Grenville  die!" 
And  he  fell  upon  their  decks,  and  he  died. 

XIV. 

And  they  stared  at  the  dead  that  liad  been  so  valiant  and  true, 

And  had  holden  the  power  and  glorj^  (A  Spain  so  cheap 

That  he  dared  her  witli  one  little  ship  and  his  Englisli  few; 

AVas  he  devil  or  man?     He  was  devil  for  aught  liiey  knew. 

But  they  sank  his  bodj^  with  honor  down  into  llie  deep, 

And  they  manned  Ihe  "  Revenge"  with  a  swarthier  alien  crew, 

And  away  she  sailed  with  her  loss  and  longed  for  her  own; 

When  a  wind  from  the  lands  they  had  ruined  awoke  from  sleep. 

And  the  water- begau  to  heave  and  the  weather  to  moan. 

And  or  ever  that  evening  ended  a  great  gale  blew. 

And  a  wave  like  the  wave  that  is  raised  by  an  earthquake  grew, 

'i'ill  it  smote  on  their  ludls  and  their  sails  and  their  masts  and  their 

flags. 
And  the  whole  sea  plunged  and  fell  on  the  shot  shattered  uavv  of 

Spain, 
And  the  little  "Revenge"  herself  went  down  bv  the  island  crasrs 
To  be  lost  evermore  in  the  main. 


CHRISTIAN   CITIZENSHIP. 

Wendell  Phillips. 

Ephesus  was  upside  down.  The  mantifacturers  of  silver 
boxes  for  holding  heathen  images  liad  collected  their  labor- 
ers together  to  discuss  the  behavior  of  one  Paul,  who  had 
been  in  public  places  assaulting  image  worship,  and  conse- 
quently very  much  damaging  their  business.  There  was  a 
great  excitement  in  the  city.  People  stood  in  knots  along 
the  street,  violently  gesticulating,  and  calling  one  another 


186  Selections  for  Reading. 

liard  names.  Some  of  the  people  favored  the  policy  of  the 
silversmiths;  others  the  policy  of  Paul.  Finally  tlicy  called 
a  convention.  When  they  assembled  they  all  wanted  the 
floor,  and  all  wanted  to  talk  at  once.  Some  wanted  to  de- 
nounce, some  to  resolve.  At  last  the  convention  rose  in  a 
body,  all  shouting  together,  till  some  were  red  in  the  face 
and  sore  in  the  throat,  "Great  is  Diana  of  the  Ephesians! 
Great  is  Diana  of  the  Ephesians  !" 

Well,  the  whole  scene  reminds  me  of  the  excitement  we 
witness  at  the  autumnal  elections.  While  the  goddess 
Diana  has  lost  her  worshippers,  our  American  people  want 
to  set  up  a  god  in  place  of  it  and  call  it  political  party. 
While  there  are  true  men,  Ciiristian  men,  standing  in  both 
political  parties,  who  go  into  the  elections  resolved  to  serve 
their  city,  their  state,  their  country,  in  the  best  possible 
way,  yet  in  tlie  vast  majority  it  is  a  question  between  the 
peas  and  the  oats.  One  party  cries,  "Great  is  Diana  of  tlie 
Ephesians!"  and  the  other  party  cries,  "  Great  is  Diana  of 
tlie  Ephesians!"  when  in  truth  both  are  crying,  if  they 
were  but  honest  enough  to  admit  it,  "  Great  is  my  ijocket- 
book!" 

What  is  the  duty  of  Christian  citizenship?  If  the  Nor- 
wegian boasts  of  his  home  of  rocks,  and  the  Siberian  is 
happy  in  his  land  of  perpetual  snow;  if  the  .Roman  thought 
the  muddy  Tiber  was  the  favored  river  of  heaven,  and  the 
Cliinese  pities  everybody  born  out  of  the  Flowery  Kingdom, 
shall  not  we,  in  this  land  of  glorious  liberty,  have  some 
thought  and  love  for  country?  There  is  a  power  higher 
than  the  ballot-box,  the  gubernatorial  chair,  or  the  Presi- 
dent's house.  To  preserve  the  institutions  of  our  country 
we  must  recognize  this  jiower  in  our  politics. 

See  how  men  make  every  effort  to  clamber  into  higher 
positions,  but  are  cast  down.     God  opposes  tliem.     Every 


Selections  for  Reading.  187 

man,  every  nation,  tliat  proved  false  to  divine  expectation,, 
down  it  went.  God  said  to  tlie  house  of  Bourbon,  '^  Ee- 
model  France  and  estaljlisli  equity."  It  would  not  do  it. 
Down  it  went.  God  said  to  the  house  of  Stuart,  "Make  the 
people  of  England  happy."  It  would  not  do  it.  Down  it 
"went.  He  said  to  the  house  of  Hapsburgh,  '"  Reform  Austria 
and  set  the  prisoners  free."  It  would  not  do  it.  Down  it 
went.  He  says  to  men  now,  "  Reform  abuses,  enlighten  the 
people,  make  peace  and  justice  to  reign.  They  don't  do 
it,  and  they  tumble  down.  How  many  wise  men  will  go 
to  the  polls  high  with  hope  and  be  sent  back  to  their  fire- 
sides I  God  can  spare  them.  If  he  could  spare  Washing- 
to7i  before  free  government  was  tested;  Howard,  while  tens 
of  thousands  of  dungeons  remained  unvisited;  Wilberforce, 
before  the  chains  had  dropped  from  millions  of  slaves, — then 
Heaven  can  spare  another  man.  The  man  who  for  party 
forsakes  righteousness,  goes  down,  and  the  armed  battalions 
of  God  march  over  him. 


THE   LEAK   IN   THE  DIKE. 

A  Story  of  Ilolland. 
PiicEBE  Caut. 

The  good  dame  looked  from  her  cottage 

At  the  close  of  the  pleasant  day, 
And  clieerilj'  called  to  her  little  sou 

Outside  the  door  at  plaj': 
"  Come,  Peter,  come!     I  want  you  to  go. 

While  there  is  light  to  see, 
To  the  hut  of  the  blind  old  man  who  lives 

Across  the  dike,  for  me, 


188  Selections  for  Reading. 

And  take  these  cakes  I  made  for  hlin, 
Tliey  are  hot  and  smoking  j'et; 

You  have  time  enough  to  go  and  come 
Before  the  sun  is  set." 

Then  the  good  wife  turned  to  her  labor, 

Humming  a  simple  song, 
And  thought  of  her  husband  working  hard 

At  the  sluices  all  day  long; 
And  set  the  turf  ablazing, 

And  brought  the  coarse  black  bread, 
That  he  might  find  a  fire  at  night. 

And  see  the  table  spread. 

And  Peter  left  the  brother 

With  whom  all  day  he  had  played, 
And  the  sister  who  had  watched  their  sports 

In  the  willow's  tender  shade. 
And  told  them  they'd  see  him  back  before 

Tlioy  saw  a  star  in  sigiit, 
Tliough  he  wouldn't  be  afraid  to  go 

In  the  very  darkest  night! 

For  he  was  a  brave,  bright  fellow. 

With  eye  and  conscience  clear; 
He  could  do  whatever  a  boy  might  do. 

And  he  had  not  learned  to  fear. 
Why,  he  wouldn't  liave  rol)l)ed  a  bird's  nest. 

Nor  brought  a  stork  to  harm, 
Though  never  a  law  in  Holland 

Had  stood  to  staj'  his  arm! 

And  now  with  his  face  all  glowing. 

And  eyes  as  bright  as  the  day. 
With  thoughts  of  his  pleasant  errand 

He  trudged  along  the  way. 
And  soon  his  joyous  prattle 

Made  glad  a  lonesome  jilace — 
Alas!  if  only  the  blind  old  man 

Could  have  seen  that  happy  face! 


K 


Selections  for  Reading.  189 

Yet  he  somehow  caught  the  brightness 

Which  his  voice  and  presence  lent ; 
And  he  felt  the  sunshine  come  and  go 

As  Petei'  came  and  went. 

And  now,  as  tlie  day  was  sinking 

And  the  winds  began  to  rise, 
Tlie  mother  looked  from  her  door  again, 

Shading  her  anxious  eyes; 
And  saw  the  shadows  deepen, 

And  birds  to  their  homes  come  back. 
But  never  a  sign  of  Peter 

Along  the  level  track. 
But  she  said:  "  He  will  come  at  muruing, 

So  I  need  not  fret  or  grieve. 
Though  it  isn't  like  mj^  boy  at  all 

To  stay  without  my  leave." 

But  where  was  the  child  delaying? 

On  the  homeward  way  was  he, 
And  across  the  dike  while  the  sun  was  up 

An  hour  above  the  sea. 
He  was  stooping  to  gather  flowers. 

And  listening  to  the  sound. 
As  the  angry  waters  dashed  themselves 

Against  their  narrow  bound. 

"Ah,  "well  for  us,"  said  Peter, 

"  That  the  gates  are  good  and  strong, 
And  my  father  tends  them  carefully, 

Or  they  would  not  liold  you  long. 
You're  a  wicked  sea,"  said  Peter; 

"I  know  why  you  fret  and  chiife: 
You  would  like  to  spoil  our  lands  aud  homes, 

But  our  sluices  keep  you  safe!" 

But  hark!     Tlirough  the  noise  of  waters 

Comes  a  low,  clear,  trickling  sound; 
And  the  child's  face  pales  witli  terror, 

And  his  Ijlossoms  fall  to  the  ground. 


190  Selections  for  Reading. 

He  is  up  the  bank  in  a  moment, 
And,  stealing  through  the  sand, 

He  sees  a  stream  not  yet  so  large 
As  his  slender,  childish  hand. 


'Tis  a  leak  in  the  dike!     He  is  but  a  boy. 

Unused  to  fearful  scenes, 
But  young  as  he  is  he  has  learned  to  know 

The  dreadful  thing  that  means. 
A  leak  in  the  dike!     The  stoutest  heart 

Grows  faint  that  cry  to  hear, 
And  the  bravest  man  in  all  the  land 

Turns  white  with  mortal  fear. 
For  he  knows  the  smallest  leak  may  grow 

To  a  flood  in  a  single  night; 
And  he  knows  the  strength  of  the  cruel  sea 

When  loosed  in  its  angry  might. 

And  the  boy?     He  has  seen  the  danger. 

And,  shouting  a  wild  alarm, 
He  forces  back  the  weight  of  the  sea 

With  the  strength  of  his  single  arm. 
He  hears  the  rough  winds  blowing, 

And  the  waters  rise  and  fall. 
But  never  a  call  comes  back  to  him 

In  ausAver  to  his  call. 
He  sees  no  hope,  no  succor, 

His  feeble  voice  is  lost; 
Yet  what  shall  he  do  but  watch  and  wait 

Though  he  perish  at  his  post? 

The  good  dame  in  the  cottnge 

Is  up  and  astir  with  the  light. 
For  the  thouglit  of  her  little  Peter 

Has  been  with  her  all  the  night. 
And  now  she  watches  the  pathway 

As  yester  eve  she  had  done; 
But  what  docs  slic  sec  so  strange  and  black 

Against  the  rising  sun? 


Selections  for  Beading.  191 


Her  neighbors  are  benriijg  between  them 

Something  straight  to  her  door. 
Her  child  is  coming  home — but  not 

As  he  ever  came  before! 

"  He  is  dead!"  she  cries.     "  My  darling!" 

And  the  startled  father  hears. 
And  comes  to  look  tlie  way  she  looks, 

Fearing  the  thing  she  fears 
Till  a  glad  shout  from  the  bearers 

Thrills  the  stricken  man  and  wife — 
"Give  thanks,  for  your  son  has  saved  our  land 

And  God  has  saved  his  life!" 
So  there  in  the  morning  sunshine 

They  knelt  about  the  boy; 
And  every  head  was  bared  and  bent 

In  tearful,  reverent  joy. 

'Tis  many  a  year  since  then;  but  still 

Wlien  the  sea  roars  like  a  flood, 
Their  boys  are  taught  what  a  boy  can  do 

Who  is  brave  and  true  and  good. 
For  ever}'  man  in  that  country 

Takes  his  own  son  by  the  hand. 
And  tells  him  of  little  Peter, 

Whose  courage  saved  the  land. 

They  have  many  a  valiant  hero, 

Tvemembered  througli  the  years. 
But  never  one  wliose  name  so  oft 

Is  named  witli  loving  tears. 
And  his  deed  shall  be  sung  by  the  cradle 

And  told  to  the  child  on  the  knee, 
So  long  as  the  dikes  of  Holland 

Divide  the  laud  from  the  sea. 


192  Selections  for  Reading. 


PARTRIDGE   AT   THE   PLAY. 

HeXRY    FlELDlXG. 

In  the  first  row,  then,  of  the  first  gallery,  did  Mr.  Jones, 
Mrs.  Miller,  her  youngest  daughter,  and  Partridge  take 
their  places.  Partridge  immediatel}^  declared  it  was  the 
finest  place  he  had  ever  been  in.  When  the  first  music 
Avas  played,  he  said,  "  It  was  a  wonder  how  so  many  fid- 
dlers could  play  at  one  time  without  putting  one  another 
out."  Nor  could  he  help  observing,  with  a  sigh,  when  all 
the  candles  were  lighted,  "That  here  were  candles  enough 
burned  in  one  night  to  keep  an  honest  poor  family  for  a 
twelvemonth." 

As  soon  as  the  play,  which  was  Hamlet,  Prince  of  Den- 
mark, began,  Partridge  was  all  attention,  nor  did  he  break 
silence  till  the  entrance  of  the  Ghost,  upon  which  he  asked 
Jones,  "What  man  that  was  in  the  strange  dress,  some- 
thing," said  he,  "like  what  I  have  seen  in  a  picture.  Sure 
it  is  not  armor,  is  it?"  Jones  answered,  "  Tliat  is  the 
Ghost."  To  which  Partridge  replied  with  a  smile,  "  Per- 
suade me  to  that,  sir,  if  you  can.  Though  I  can't  say  I 
ever  actually  saw  a  ghost  in  my  life,  yet  I  am  certain  I 
should  know  one  if  I  saw  him  better  than  that  comes  to. 
Ko,  no,  sir;  ghosts  don't  appear  in  such  dresses  as  that 
neither."  In  this  mistake,  which  caused  much  laughter 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Partridge,  he  was  suffered  to  con- 
tinue till  the  scene  between  the  Ghost  and  Hamlet,  when 
Partridge  gave  that  credit  to  Mr.  Garrick  which  he  had  de- 
nied  to  Jones,  and  fell  into  so  violent  a  trembling  that  his 
knees  knocked  against  each  other.  Jones  asked  him  what 
Avas  the  matter,  and  whether  he  was  afraid  of  the  warrior 


Selections  for  Iteadivg.  193 

on  the  stage.  ''Oh,  l;i!  sir,"  said  lie,  "I  perceive  now  it 
is  what  you  told  me.  I  am  not  afraid  of  anytliing,  for  I 
know  it  is  but  a  phiy,  and  if  it  was  really  a  ghost,  it  could 
do  one  no  harm  at  such  a  distance,  and  in  so  much  com- 
pany: aud  yet  if  I  was  frightened,  I  am  not  the  only  per- 
son." "  Why,  Avho,"  cries  Jones,  "dost  thou  take  to  be 
such  a  coward  here  beside  thyself?"'  "  Nay,  you  may  call 
me  coAvard  if  you  Avill;  but  if  that  little  man  there  upon 
the  stage  is  not  frightened,  I  never  saw  any  man  frightened 
in  my  life.  Ay,  ay;  go  along  with  you!  Ay,  to  be  sure! 
Who's  fool  then?  Will  you?  Lud  have  mercy  upon  such 
foolhardiness!  Whatever  liappens,  it  is  good  enough  for 
you.  Follow  you!  I'd  follow  the  devil  as  soon.  Nay,  per- 
haps it  is  the  devil — for  they  say  he  can  put  on  Avhat  like- 
ness he  pleases.  Oh!  here  he  is  again,  No  farther!  No, 
you  have  gone  far  enough  already;  farther  than  I'd  have 
gone  for  all  the  king's  dominions."  Jones  offered  to  speak, 
but  Partridge  cried,  "Ilush,  hush,  dear  sir!  don't  you 
hear  him?"  And  during  the  whole  speech  of  the  Ghost, 
he  sat  with  his  eyes  fixed  partly  on  the  Ghost  and  partly 
on  Hamlet,  and  with  his  mouth  open;  the  same  passions 
Avhich  succeeded  each  other  in  Hamlet  succeeding  likewise 
in  him. 

When  the  scone  was  over,  Jones  said,  "  Why,  Partridge, 
you  exceed  my  ex^oectalions.  You  enjoy  the  play  more 
than  I  conceived  possible."  "  Nay,  sir,"  answered  Part- 
ridge, '■'  if  you  are  not  afraid  of  the  devil,  I  can't  help  it; 
but,  to  be  sure,  it  is  natural  to  be  surprised  at  such  things, 
though  I  know  there  is  nothing  in  them:  not  that  it  Avas 
the  Ghost  that  surprised  me  neither;  for  I  should  have 
knoAvn  that  to  have  been  only  a  man  in  a  strange  dress; 
but  when  I  saw  the  little  man  so  frightened  himself,  it  was 
that  Avhich  took  hold  of  me."     "And  dost  thou  imagine 


194  Selections  for  Reading. 

then,  Partridge,"  cries  Jones,  "  that  lie  was  really  fright- 
ened?" "Nav,  sir,"  said  Partridge,  ''did  not  you  yourself 
obsei've  afterwards,  when  he  found  it  was  his  own  father's 
spirit,  and  how  he  was  murdered  in  the  garden,  how  his 
fear  forsook  him  by  degrees,  and  he  was  struck  dumb  with 
sorrow,  as  it  Avere,  just  as  I  should  have  been,  had  it  been 
my  own  case?  But  hush!  Oh  la!  what  noise  is  that? 
There  ho  is  again.  AVcll,  to  be  certain,  though  I  know 
there  is  nothing  at  all  in  it,  I  am  glad  I  am  not  down  yon- 
der where  those  men  are." 

During  the  second  act,  Partridge  made  very  few  remarks. 
He  greatly  admired  the  fineness  of  the  dresses;  nor  could 
he  help  observing  upon  the  King's  countenance.  "  Well," 
said  he,  "  how  people  may  be  deceived  by  faces!  Nulla  fides 
fronti  is,  I  find,  a  true  saying.  Who  would  think,  by 
looking  in  the  King's  face,  that  he  had  ever  committed  a 
murder?"  He  then  inquired  after  the  Ghost ;  but  Jones, 
who  intended  he  should  be  sui-prised,  gave  him  no  other 
satisfaction  tlian  "that  lie  might  possibly  see  him  again 
soon,  and  in  a  flash  of  fire." 

Partridge  sat  in  fearful  expectation  of  this;  and  now, 
when  the  Ghost  made  his  next  appearance,  Partridge  cried 
out,  "  There,  sir,  now;  what  say  you  now;  is  he  frightened 
now  or  no?  As  much  frightened  as  vou  think  me,  and  to 
be  sure  nobody  can  help  some  fears;  I  would  not  be  in  so 
bad  a  condition  as — what's  his  name? — Squire  Hamlet  is 
there,  for  all  the  world.  Bless  me!  1^-hat's  become  of  the 
spirit?  As  I  am  a  living  soul,  I  thought  I  saw  him  sink 
into  the  earth."  ''Indeed,  you  saw  right,"  answered 
Jones.  "AVell,  well,"  cries  Partridge,  "I  know  it's  only  a 
piny;  and  besides,  if  there  was  anything  in  all  this.  Madam 
]\Iiller  would  not  laugh  so;  for  as  to  you,  sir,  you  would 
not  be  afraid,  T  believe,  if  the  devil  was  here  in  person. 


Select io n s  fo r  Rea d ing.  195 

There,  there;  ay,  no  wonder  you  are  in  such  a  passion; 
shake  the  vile,  wicked  wretch  to  pieces.  If  she  was  my 
own  mother,  I  should  serve  her  so.  To  be  sure,  all  duty 
to  a  mother  is  forfeited  by  such  wicked  doings.  Ay,  go 
about  your  business;  I  hate  the  sight  of  you." 

Our  critic  was  now  pretty  silent  till  the  play  which  Ham- 
let introduces  before  the  King.  This  he  did  not  at  first 
understand,  till  Jones  explained  it  to  him;  but  he  no 
sooner  entered  into  the  spirit  of  it,  than  he  began  to  bless 
himself  that  he  had  never  committed  murder.  Then  turn- 
ing to  Mrs.  Miller,  he  asked  her,  "  If  she  did  not  imagine 
the  King  looked  as  if  he  was  touched;  though  he  is,"  said 
he,  "a  good  actor,  aud  doth  all  he  can  to  hide  it.  Well,  I 
would  not  have  so  much  to  answer  for  as  that  wicked  man 
there  hath,  to  sit  upon  a  much  liigher  chair  than  he  sits 
upon.  No  wonder  he  ran  away;  for  your  sake  I'll  never 
trust  an  innocent  face  again." 

The  grave-digging  scene  next  engaged  the  attention  of 
Partridge,  who  expressed  much  surprise  at  the  number  of 
skulls  thrown  upon  the  stage.  To  which  Jones  answered, 
"That  it  w;is  one  of  the  most  famous  burial-places  about 
town."  "  No  wonder,  then,"  cries  Partridge,  "that  the 
place  is  haunted.  But  I  never  saw  in  my  life  a  worse  grave- 
digger.  I  had  a  sexton  when  I  was  clerk  that  should  have 
dug  three  graves  while  he  is  digging  one.  The  fellow  han- 
dles a  spade  as  if  it  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  had  one 
in  his  hand.  Ay,  ay,  you  may  sing.  You  had  rather  sing 
than  work,  I  believe."  Upon  Hamlet's  taking  up  the 
skull,  he  cried  out,  "Well,  it  is  strange  to  see  how  fearless 
some  men  are:  I  never  could  bring  myself  to  touch  any- 
thing belonging  to  a  dead  man  on  any  account.  He  seemed 
frightened  enough  too  at  the  Ghost,  I  thought." 

Little  more  worth  remembering  occurred  during  the  play. 


/ 


196  Selections  for  Reading. 


at  tlie  end  of  Avliicli  Jones  asked  him,  "Which  of  tlie  play- 
ers lie  had  liked  best?"  To  this  he  answered,  with  some 
appearance  of  indignation  at  the  question,  ''  The  King, 
Avithout  doubt."  "Indeed,  Mr.  Partridge,"  says  Mrs.  Miller, 
"you  are  not  of  the  same  oi)inion  with  the  town;  for  they 
are  all  agreed  that  Hamlet  is  acted  by  the  best  jdayer  who 
ever  was  on  the  stage."  ''  He  the  best  player!"  cries  Part- 
ridge, with  a  contemptuous  sneer;  "■'  why,  I  could  act  as  well 
as  he  myself.  I  am  sure  if  I  had  seen  a  ghost,  I  should  have 
looked  in  the  very  same  manner,  and  done  just  as  he  did. 
And  then,  to  be  sure,  in  that  scene,  as  you  called  it,  be- 
tween him  and  his  mother,  where  you  told  me  he  acted  so 
fine,  wh}',  any  man,  that  is  any  good  man,  that  had  such  a 
mother,  would  have  done  exactly  the  same.  I  knoAv  you 
are  only  joking  with  me;  but,  indeed,  madam,  though  I 
was  never  at  a  play  in  London,  yet  I  have  seen  acting  be- 
fore in  the  country;  and  the  King  for  my  money;  he  speaks 
all  his  words  distinctly,  half  as  loud  again  as  the  other. 
Anybody  may  see  he  is  an  actor." 


LONGING. 
James  Russell  Lowell. 

Of  all  the  myriad  moods  of  mind 

That  through  the  soul  come  thronging, 
Which  one  was  e'er  so  dear,  so  kind, 

So  heautiful  as  longing? 
To  let  the  new  life  in  we  know 

Desire  must  ope  the  porlal; 
Perhaps  the  longing  to  be  so 

Helps  make  the  soul  immortal. 


Selections  for  Heading.  197 

Loiigiugi  is  God's  fresh  heavenward  will, 

With  our  poor  earthward  sti;iviiig; 
We  quench  it  tliat  we  may  be  still 

Content  witli  merely  living; 
But  would  we  know  that  heart's  full  scope, 

Which  we  are  hourly  wronging, 
Our  lives  must  climb  from  hope  to  hope 

And  realize  our  longing. 

All!  let  us  hope  that  to  our  praise 

Good  God  not  only  reckons 
Tiie  moments  when  we  tread  his  ways. 

But  when  the  spirit  beckons; 
That  some  slight  good  is  also  wrought 

Beyond  self-satisfaction 
When  we  are  simply  good  in  thought, 

Howe'er  we  fail  in  action. 


HOW  TO  READ. 
John  Kuskin". 


I  WILL  try  to  bring  before  you  only  a  few  simjile  tlionglits 
about  reading  which  press  themselves  upon  me  every  day 
more  deeply  as  I  watch  the  course  of  the  public  mind  with 
respect  to  our  daily  enlarging  means  of  education  and  the 
answeringly  wider  spreading  on  the  levels  of  the  irrigation 
of  literature. 

A  book  is  written  not  to  multiply  the  voice  merely,  not 
to  carry  it  merely,  but  to  preserve  it.  The  author  has 
something  to  say  which  he  perceives  to  be  true  and  useful 
or  helpfully  beautiful.  So  far  as  he  knows  no  one  has  yet 
said  it.  He  is  bouiul  to  say  it,  clearly  and  melodiously,  if 
he  may;  clearly,  at  all  events.     In  the  sum  of  his  life  ho 


198  A^electio?is  for  Reading. 

liuds  this  to  be  the  thing,  ov  group  of  things,  manifest  to 
him;  this  the  piece  of  true  knowledge  or  sight  which  his 
share  of  sunshine  and  earth  has  permitted  him  to  seize. 
He  would  fain  set  it  down  forever;  engrave  it  on  a  rock,  if 
he  could,  saying,  '*'  This  is  the  best  of  me;  for  the  rest,  I 
ate  and  drank  and  slept  and  loved  and  hated,  like  another; 
my  life  was  as  the  vapor  and  is  not.  But  this  I  saw- and 
knew;  this,  if  anything  of  mine,  is  worth  your  memory." 
That  is  his  ''writing;"  it  is,  in  his  small  human  way,  and 
with  whatever  degree  of  true  inspiration  is  in  him,  his  in- 
scription or  scripture.     Tluit  is  a  ''Book." 

There  seems  to  you  and  me  no  reason  why  the  electric 
forces  of  the  earth  should  not  carry  whatever  there  is  of 
gold  within  it  at  once  to  the  mountain-top,  so  that  kings 
and  people  might  know  that  all  the  gold  they  could  get 
was  there;  and  without  any  trouble  of  digging,  or  anxiety, 
or  chance,  or  waste  of  time,  cut  it  away  and  coin  as  much 
as  they  needed.  But  Nature  does  not  manage  it  so.  She 
l)uts  it  in  little  fissures  in  the  earth,  nobody  knows  where; 
you  may  dig  long  and  find  none;  you  must  dig  painfully 
to  find  any. 

And  it  is  just  the  same  with  men's  best  wisdom.  When 
you  come  to  a  good  book  you  must  ask  yourself.  "'Am  I 
inclined  to  work  as  an  Australian  miner  would?  Are  my 
pickaxes  and  shovels  in  good  order,  and  am  I  in  good  trim 
myself,  my  sleeves  well  u])  to  the  elbow,  and  my  breath 
good,  and  my  temi)er?  "And,  keeping  the  figure  a  little 
longer,  even  at  cost  of  tiresomeness,  for  it  is  a  thoroughly 
useful  one, — the  metal  you  are  in  search  of  being  the 
author's  mind  or  meaning,  his  words  are  as  the  rock  Avhicli 
you  have  to  crush  and  smelt  in  order  to  get  at  it.  Your 
pickaxes  are  your  own  care,  wit,  and  learning;  your  smelt- 
ing furnace  is  your  own  thoughtful  soul.     Do  not  iiope  to 


/ 


Selections  for  Beading.  '    li^O 


get  at  any  good   author's  meaning  without  those  tools  and 
that  fire.     And  therefore,  first  of  all,  I  tell  you,  earnestly 
and  authoritatively— I  know  I  am  right  in  this— yon  must 
get  into  the  habit  of  looking  intensely  at  words  and  assur- 
ing yourself  of  their  meaning,  syllable  by  syllabic,  nay, 
letter  by  .letter.     You  might  read   all   the  books  in   the 
British  Museum  if  you  could  live  long  enough,  and  remain 
an  utterly  uneducated  person;  but  if  you  read  ten  pages  of 
a  good  book,  letter  by  letter,  that  is  to  say  with  real  ac- 
curacy, you  are  forever  more  in  some  measure  an  educated 
person.     The  entire  difference  between  education  and  non- 
education,  as  regards  the  merely  intellectual  i)art  of  it,  con- 
sists in  this  accuracy.     A  well-educated  gentleman  may  not 
know  many  languages — may  not  be  able  to  speak  any  but 
his  own — may  have  read  very  few  books.     But  whatever 
language  he  knows,  he  knows  precisely;  whatever  word  he 
pronounces,  he  pronounces  rightly.     But    an  uneducated 
person   may  know  by  memory  any  number  of  languages, 
and  talk  them  all,  and  yet  truly  not  know  a  word  of  any— 
not  a  word  even  of  his  own.     An  ordinarily  and  clever  sea- 
man will  be  able  to  make  his  way  ashore  at  most  ports;  yet 
he   has  only  to  speak  a  sentence  of  any  language  to   be 
known  for  an  illiterate  person;  so  also  the  accent  or  turn 
of  expression   of  a  single  sentence  will  at  once  mark   a 
scholar.     And  this  is  so  strongly  felt,  so  conclusively  ad- 
mitted by  educated  persons,  that  a  false  accent  or  mistaken 
syllable  is  enough,  in  the  parliament  of  any  civilized  nation, 
to  assign  to  a  man  a  certain  degree  of  inferior  standing  for- 
ever.    And  this  is  right;  l)ut  it  is  a  pity  that  the  accuracy 
insisted  on  is  not  greater,  and  required  to  a  serious  purpose. 
It  is  right  that  a  false  Latin  quantity  should  excite  a  smile 
in  the  House   of  Commons,  but   it  is  wrong  that  a  false 
English  meaning  should  not  excite  a  frown  there.     Let  the 


200  Selections  for  Heading. 


jicceut  of  words  be  watched,  by  all  means,  but  let  their 
meaning  be  watched  more  closely  still,  and  fewer  will  do 
the  woi'k. 

Nearly  every  word  in  our  language  has  been  first  a  Avord 
in  some  other  language — Saxon,  German,  French,  Ltitin,  or 
Greek.  Many  words  have  been  all  these,  that  is  to  say 
have  been  Greek  tirst,  Latin  next,  French  or  German  next, 
and  English  last;  undergoing  a  certain  change  of  sense  and 
use  on  the  lips  of  each  nation;  but  retainir.g  a  deep,  vital 
meaning  which  all  good  scholars  feel  in  employing  them 
even  at  this  day.  If  you  do  not  know  your  Greek  alpha- 
bet, learn  it;  young  or  old,  boy  or  girl,  whoever  you  may 
be,  if  you  think  of  reading  seriously,  learn  your  Greek 
alphabet;  then  get  good  dictionaries  of  all  these  languages, 
;ind  whenever  you  are  in  doubt  about  a  word,  hunt  it  down 
])atiently.  It  is  severe  work,  but  you  will  find  it,  even  at 
tirst,  interesting  and  at  last  endlessly  amusing;  while  the 
general  gain  to  your  chai'acter  in  power  and  jirecision  will 
be  quite  incalculable. — Semme  and  Lilliea. 


WHY. 

]\r.\HY  Frances  Butts. 

"Tell  me.  O  cruel  Ilaud," 

Said  a  Grain  of  Corn  one  day, 
"  Why  from  tiie  golden  sunsliine 

You  bury  me  awuy.'' 
Tlie  silence  was  relentless, 

No  helper  came  to  save; 
But  full  ears  in  the  harvest 

A  perfect  an^^wcr  gave. 


kielectlons  for  Reading. 


201 


"Tell  me,  O  cruel  Knife," 

Said  a  Hose- tree  overgrown, 
"  Why  all  my  wealth  is  stripped, 

And  I  am  left  alone." 
The  question  was  unheeded, 

"In  vain  a  rose  tree  grows!" 
Ah!  doubter,  leaves  are  little  worth 

When  you  have  seen  a  rose. 

"Tell  me,  O  cruel  Fate," 

Said  a  baffled,  tempted  Soul, 
"  "What  is  the  good  of  life. 

Where  is  the  promised  goal?" 
Tlie  loving  Force  evolving 

Sweet  roses  and  ripe  corn 
Goes  surely  to  its  purpose, 

Oh,  Faithless  and  Forlorn. 


— Independent. 


THE   WATEES   AND   THE   SHADOW. 
Victor  Hugo. 

A  MAN  overboard! 

What  matters  it?  tlie  ship  does  not  stop.  The  wind  is 
blowing;  tliat  dark  ship  must  keep  on  her  destined  course. 
She  passes  away. 

The  man  disappears,  then  reappears;  lie  plunges  and  rises 
again  to  the  surface;  he  calls,  he  stretches  out  his  hands. 
They  hear  him  not;  the  ship,  staggering  under  the  gale,  is 
straining  every  rope;  the  sailors  and  passengers  see  the 
drowning  man  no  longer;  his  miserable  head  is  but  a  point 
in  the  vastness  of  the  billows. 

He  hurls  cries  of  despair  into  the  depths.     What  a  spectre 


202  titled ion^  for  Reading. 

is  that  disappearing  sail  I  lie  looks  upon  it;  he  looks  upon 
it  with  frenzy.  It  moves  away;  it  grows  dim;  it  di-min- 
islies.  He  was  there  but  just  now;  he  was  one  of  the  crew; 
he  went  and  came  upon  the  deck  with  the  rest;  he  had  his 
share  of  the  air  and  of  the  sunlight;  he  was  a  living  man. 
Now,  what  has  become  of  him?  He  slipped,  he  fell;  and 
it  is  finished. 

He  is  in  the  monstrous  deep.  He  lias  nothing  under  his 
feet  but  the  yielding,  fleeing  element.  The  waves,  torn 
and  scattered  by  the  wind,  close  rouiul  him  hideously;  the 
rolling  of  the  abyss  bears  him  along;  shreds  of  water  are 
flying  about  his  head;  a  populace  of  waves  spit  upon  him; 
confused  openings  half  swallow  him;  when  he  sinks  he 
catches  glimpses  of  3-awniing  precipices  full  of  darkness; 
fearful  unknown  vegetations  seize  upon  him,  bind  his  feet, 
and  draw  him  to  themselves;  he  feels  that  he  is  becoming 
the  great  deep;  he  makes  part  of  the  foam;  the  billows 
toss  him  from  one  to  the  other;  he  tastes  the  bitterness; 
the  greedy  ocean  is  eager  to  devour  him;  the  monster  plays 
with  his  agony.  It  seems  as  if  all  this  were  liquid  hate. 
But  yet  he  struggles. 

He  tries  to  defend  himself;  he  tries  to  sustain  himself; 
he  struggles;  he  swims.  He — that  poor  strength  that  fails 
so  soon — he  combats  the  unfailing. 

Where  now  is  the  ship  ?  Far  away  yonder.  Hardly 
visible  in  the  pallid  gloom  of  the  horizon. 

The  wind  blows  in  gusts;  the  billows  overwhelm  him. 
He  raises  his  eyes,  but  sees  only  the  livid  clouds.  He,  in 
his  dying  agony,  makes  part  of  this  immense  insanity  of 
the  sea.  He  is  tortured  to  his  death  by  its  immeasurable' 
madness.  He  hears  sounds  which  are  strange  to  man, 
sounds  which  seem  to  come  not  from  earth,  but  from  some 
frightful  realm  beyond. 


Sdections  for  Reading.  203 


There  are  birds  in  the  clouds  even  as  there  are  angels 
above  human  distresses,  but  Avhat  can  they  do  for  him  ? 
They  fly,  sing,  and  float,  while  he  is  gasping. 

He  feels  that  he  is  buried  at  once  by  those  two  infinities, 
the  ocean  and  the  sky;  the  one  is  a  tomb,  the  other  a  pall. 

Night  descends.  He  has  been  swimming  for  hours;  his 
strength  is  almost  exhausted.  That  ship,  that  far-off  thing, 
■where  there  were  men,  is  gone.  He  is  alone  in  the  terrible 
gloom  of  the  abyss;  he  sinks,  he  strains,  he  struggles;  he 
feels  beneath  him  the  shadowy  monsters  of  the  unseen;  he 
shouts. 

Men  are  no  more.  Where  is  God?  He  shouts.  Help! 
help  I  He  shouts  incessantly.  Nothing  in  the  horizon. 
Nothing  in  the  sky.  He  implores  the  blue  vault,  the  waves, 
the  rocks;  all  are  deaf.  He  supplicates  the  tempest;  the 
imperturbable  tempest  obeys  only  the  infinite. 

Around  him  are  darkness,  storm,  solitude^  wild  and  un- 
conscious tumult,  the  ceaseless  tumbling  of  the  fierce 
waters;  within  him,  horror  and  exhaustion;  beneath  him, 
the  engulfing  abyss.  No  i-csting-placc.  He  thinks  of  the 
shadowy  adventures  of  his  lifeless  body  in  the  limitless 
gloom.  The  biting  cold  paralyzes  him.  His  hands  clutch 
spasmodically  and  grasp  at  nothing.  Winds,  clouds,  whirl- 
winds, blasts,  stars,  all  useless  !  What  shall  he  do  ?  He 
yields  to  despair;  worn  out,  he  seeks  death;  he  no  longer 
resists;  he  gives  himself  up;  he  abandons  the  contest,  and 
he  is  rolled  away  into  the  dismal  depths  of  the  abyss  forevei'. 

0  implacable  march  of  human  society  !  Destruction  of 
men  and  of  souls  marking  its  path!  Ocean,  where  fall  all 
that  the  law  lets  fall  ?  Ominous  disappearance  of  aid!  0 
moral  death  ! 

The  sea  is  the  inexorable  night  into  which  the  penal  law 
casts  its  victims.     The  sea  is  the  measureless  miscrv.     The 


204  Selections  for  Heading. 


soul  drifting  in  that  sea  may  become  a  corpse.     Who  shall 
restore  it  to  life? — Les  Miserahles. 


NOBILITY. 

Alice  Gary. 


True  worth  is  in  being,  not  seeming, 

In  doing  eacli  day  tliat  goes  by- 
Some  little  good — not  in  the  dreaming 
\v  Of  great  things  to  do  by  and  by. 

For  wliatever  men  say  in  blindness 
And  spite  of  the  fancies  of  youth, 
There's  nothing  so  kingly  as  kindness. 
And  nothing  so  royal  as  I  ruth. 

We  get  back  our  mete  as  we  measure, 
We  cannot  do  wrong  and  love  right; 

Nor  can  we  give  pain  and  get  pleasure. 
OV    For  justice  avenges  each  slight. 

The  air  for  tlie  wing  of  the  sparrow, 
The  bush  for  the  robin  and  wren; 

But  alway  the  path  that  is  narrow 
And  strait  for  tlie  childrc!i  of  men. 

'Tis  not  in  the  pages  of  story 

The  heait  of  its  ills  to  beguile. 
Though  he  that  pays  tribute  to  glory 

Gives  all  tiiat  lie  hatli  for  her  smile; 
For  when  frnin  lier  heights  he  has  won  her, 

Alas!  it  is  only  to  prove 
That  nothing's  so  sacred  as  honor. 

And  nothing  so  loyal  as  love. 

We  cannot  make  bargains  for  blisses, 
•"Y-v        Nor  calcli  tliem  like  fishes  in  nets; 
/  And  sometimes  the  tiling  our  life  misses 
Helps  more  tlian  the  tiling  wbicli  it  gets. 


Selections  for  Reading.  205 


For  good  lieth  not  iu  pursiiin!^- 
fV-         Nor  gaining  of  groat  nor  of  small. 
^  But  just  in  the  doing, — and  doing 
As  Ave  would  be  done  by  is  all. 

Tlirougli  env}',  through  malice,  through  haling. 

•Against  the  world,  early  and  late. 
No  jot  of  our  courage  abating, 

Our  part  is  to  work  and  to  wait. 
And  slight  is  the  sting  of  liis  trouble 

Whose  winnings  are  less  than  bis  worth; 
For  he  who  is  honest  is  noble. 

Whatever  his  fortunes  or  birth. 


A  THANKSGIVING  GROWL. 
Eleanor  Kirk. 

Oh,  dear!  do  put  some  more  chips  on  the  fire. 

And  hurry  up  that  oven!     Just  my  luck 
To  have  the  bread  slacli.     Set  that  pie  up  higher. 

And  for  goodness'  sake  do  clear  this  truclv 
Away!     Frogs'  legs  and  marbles  on  my  moulding-board! 

What  next,  I  wonder?     John  Henery,  wash  your  face, 
And  do  get  out  from  under  foot!     "  Afford 

More  cream"?     Used  what  you  had?     If  tliat's  tlie  case. 
Skim  all  the  pans.     Do  step  a  little  spryer! 

I  wish  I  hadn't  asked  so  many  folks 
To  spend  Thanksgiving.     Good  gracious!  poke  the  fire, 

And  put  some  water  ou.     Dear  how  it  smokes! 
I  never  was  so  tired  iu  all  my  life! 

And  there's  the  cake  to  frost,  and  dough  to  mix 
For  tarts.     I  can't  cut  pumpkin  with  this  knife! 

Some  women's  liusbands  know  enough  to  fix 
The  kitchen  tools;  but  for  all  mine  would  care 

I  might  tear  pumpkin  with  my  teeth.     John  Henery! 
If  you  don't  plant  yourself  on  that  ne  chair 


'^  206  Selections  for  Heading. 


I'll  set  you  down  so  hard  that  you'll  agree 
You're  stuck  lor  good!     Them  cranberries  are  sour, 
And  taste  like  gall  besides.     Hand  me  some  flour, 

And  do  fly  rouud!     John  Henery,  wipe  your  nose) 
I  wonder  how  'twill  be  when  I  am  dead? 

"How  my  nose'll  be"?     Yes.  how  your  nose'll  be! 
And  how  your  back'U  be!     If  that  ain't  red,      ♦ 

I'll  miss  my  guess.     I  don't  expect  j^ou'll  see — 
You  nor  your  father  neither — what  I've  done 

And  suffered  in  this  house.     As  true's  I  live 
Tliein  pesky  fowls  ain't  stuffed!     The  biggest  one 

Will  hold  two  loaves  of  bread.     Say,  wipe  that  sieve 
And  hand  it  here.     You  are  the  slowest  poke 

In  all  Vairmount!  Lor!  There's  Deacon  Gobbin's  wife! 
She'll  be  here  to-morrow.     That  pan  can  soak 

A  little  while.     I  never  in  my  life 
Saw  such  a  lazy  critter  as  she  is! 

If  she  stayed  home  there  wouldn't  be  a  thing 
To  eat.     You  bet  she'll  fill  up  here!     "It'sriz"? 

Well,  so  it  has.     John  Henery!     Good  king! 
How  did  that  boy  get  out?     You  saw  him  go 

With  both  fists  full  of  raisins,  and  a  pie 
Behind  him,  and  J'ou  never  let  me  know? 

There!  you've  talked  so  much  I  clean  forgot  the  rye. 
I  wonder,  if  the  Governor  had  to  slave 

As  I  do,  he  would  be  so  pesky  fresh  about 
Thanksgiving-day?    He'd  be  in  his  grave 

With  half  my  work.     What!  get  along  without 
An  Indian  pudding?     Well,  that  would  be 

A  novelty.     No  friend  or  foe  shall  say 
I'm  close,  or  haven't  as  much  variety 

As  other  folks!     There!  I  think  I  see  mj"-  way 
Quite  clear.     The  onions  are  to  peel — let's  see: 

Turnips,  potatoes,  apples  there  to  stew; 
This  squash  to  bake,  and  lick  John  Henery, 

And  after  that  I  really  think  I'm  throuLih. 


Selections  for  Reading.  '       20' 


SOUND  AND  SENSE. 

KOBEliT    ChAMBEKS. 

That,  in  the  formation  of  language,  men  have  been  much 
influenced  by  a  regard  to  the  nature  of  the  things  and  ac- 
tions meant  to  be  represented,  is  a  fact  of  which  every 
known  speech  gives  proof.  In  our  own  language,  for  in- 
stance, who  does  not  perceive  in  the  sound  of  the  words 
thunder,  bouncUess,  terrible,  a  something  appropriate  to  the 
sublime  ideas  intended  to  be  conveyed?  In  the  word  crasJi 
wc  hear  the  very  action  implied-  Imp,  elf, — how  descrip- 
tive of  the  miniature  beings  to  which  we  apply  them !  Fairy, 
— how  light  and  tripping,  just  like  the  fairy  herself! — tlie 
word,  no  more  than  the  thing,  seems  fit  to  bend  the  grass- 
blade,  or  shake  the  tear  from  the  blue-eyed  flower. 

Pea  is  another  of  those  words  expressive  of  light,  diminu- 
tive objects;  any  man  born  without  sight  and  touch,  if  such 
ever  are,  could  tell  what  kind  of  thing  a  pea  Avas  from  the 
sound  of  the  word  alone.  Of  i)icturesque  words,  sijJvan  and 
crystal  are  among  our  greatest  favorites.  Sylvan  ! — what 
visions  of  beautiful  old  sunlit  forests,  with  huntsmen  and 
bugle-horns,  arise  at  the  sound!  Crystal! — does  it  not 
glitter  like  the  very  thing  it  stands  for?  Yet  crystal  is  not 
so  beautiful  as  its  own  adjective.  Crystalline! — why,  the 
whole  mind  is  lightened  up  with  its  shine.  And  this  supe- 
riority is  as  it  should  be;  for  crystal  can  only  be  one  com- 
paratively small  object,  while  crystalline  may  refer  to  a 
mass — to  a  world  of  crystals. 

It  will  be  found  that  natural  objects  have  a  larger  propor- 
tion of  expressive  names  nmong  them  than  any  other  things. 


208       •  Selections  for  Reading. 

The  eagle, — what  appropriate  daring  and  sublimity!  the 
dove, — what  softness  I  the  linnet, — what  fluttering  gentle- 
ness! •'  That  which  men  call  a  rose"  would  not  by  any 
other  name,  or  at  least  by  many  other  names,  smell  as 
sweet.  Lily, — what  tall,  cool,  pale,  lady-like  beauty  have 
we  here!  Violet,  jessamine,  liyacinili,  anemone,  geranium! 
— beauties,  all  of  them,  to  the  ear  as  well  as  the  eye. 

The  names  of  the  precious  stones  have  also  a  beauty  and 
magnificence  above  most  common  things.  Diamond,  sajj- 
phire,  amethyst,  heryl,  ruby,  agate,  j^carl,  jasper,  topaz, 
garnet,  emerald, — whata  casket  of  sj)arkling  sounds!  Dia- 
dem and  coronet  glitter  with  gold  and  precious  stones,  like 
the  objects  they  represent.  It  is  almost  unnecessary  to  bring 
forward  instances  of  the  fine  things  which  are  represented 
in  English  by  fine  words.  Let  us  take  any  sul)lime  passage 
of  our  poetry,  and  we  shall  hardly  find  a  word  which  is  in- 
appropriate in  sound.     For  exaniiilc: 

The  cloud-capped  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
The  solemu  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve, 
And,  like  this  iiisubstautiul  pageaut  faded, 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind. 

The  "gorgeous  palaces,"  "  the  solemn  temples," — how  ad- 
mirably do  tliose  loftv  sounds  harmonize  with  objects! 

The  relation  between  the  sound  and  sense  of  certain 
words  is  to  be  ascribed  to  more  than  one  cause.  Many  are 
evidently  imitative  representations  of  the  things,  move- 
ments, and  acts  which  are  meant  to  be  expressed.  Others, 
in  which  we  only  find  a  general  relation,  as  between  a  beau- 
tiful thing  and  a  beautiful  word,  a  ridiculous  thing  and  a 
ridiculous  word,  or  a  sublime  idea  and  a  sublinje  word, 
must  bo  attributed  to  those  faculties,  native  to  every  mind. 


Selections  for  Reading.  209 

Avliich  enable  us  to  perceive  and  enjoy  the  beautiful,  the 
ridiculous,  and  the  sublime. 

Doctor  Wallis,  who  wrote  upon  English  grammar  in  the 
reign  of  Charles  II.,  represented  it  as  a  peculiar  excellence 
of  our  language  that,  beyond  all  others,  it  exj^ressed  the 
nature  of  the  objects  which  it  names  by  employing  sounds 
sharper,  softer,  Aveaker,  stronger,  more  obscure,  or  more 
stridulous,  according  as  the  idea  which  is  to  be  suggested 
requires.  He  gives  various  examples.  Thus,  words  formed 
upon  st  always  denote  firmness  and  strength,  analogous  to 
the  Latin  sto;  as,  stand,  stay,  staff,  stop,  stout,  steady, 
stake,  stamp,  etc. 

Words  beginning  witli  str  intimate  violent  force  and  en- 
ergy; as,  strive,  strength,  stress,  stripe,  etc.  Thr  implies 
forcible  motion;  as,  throw,  throb,  thrust,  threaten,  thral- 
dom, thrill:  gl,  smoothness  or  silent  motion;  as,  glib,  glide: 
wr,  obliquity  or  distortion;  as,  wry,  wrest,  wrestle,  wring, 
wrong,  wrangle,  wrath,  etc.:  siv,  silent  agitation,  or  lateral 
motion;  as,  sway,  swing,  swerve,  sweep,  swim:  si,  a  gentle 
fall  or  less  observable  motion;  as,  slide,  slip,  sly,  slit,  slow, 
slack,  sling:  sp,  dissipation  or  expansion;  as,  spread,  sprout, 
sprinkle,  split,  spill,  spring. 

Terminations  in  ash  indicate  something  acting  nimbly 
and  sharply;  as,  crush,  dash,  rash,  flash,  lash,  slash:  ter- 
minations in  iisli,  something  acting  more  obtusely  and 
dully;  as  crush,  brush,  hush,  gush,  blush.  The  learned 
author  produces  a  great  many  moi'c  examples  of  the  same 
kind,  which  seem  to  leave  no  doubt  that  the  analogies  of 
sound  have  had  some  influence  on  the  formation  of  words. 
At  the  same  time,  in  all  speculations  of  this  kind  there  is 
so  much  room  for  fancy  to  operate  that  they  ought  to  be 
adopted  with  much  caution  in  forming  any  general  theory. 


210  Selections  for  Reading. 


NEW  EVERY ^lORXIXG. 
Susan  Coolidge. 

Every  day  is  a  fresh  beghuiing, 

Every  morn  is  tlie  world  made  new, 
You  who  are  weary  of  sorrow  and  simiing, 

Here  is  a  beautiful  hope  for  j'ou; 

A  hope  for  ine  and  a  hope  for  you. 

All  the  past  things  are  past  and  over, 

The  tasks  are  done  and  the  tears  are  shed. 

Yesterday's  errors  let  yesterday  cover; 

Yesterday's  wounds,  which  smarted  and  bled, 
Are  healed  Avith  the  healing  which  night  has  shed. 

Yesterday  now  is  a  part  of  forever, 

Bound  up  in  a  sheaf,  which  God  hc^lds  tight, 

With  glad  daj's,  and  sad  days,  and  bad  days  which  never 
Shall  visit  us  more  with  their  bloom  and  their  blight. 
Their  fulness  of  sunshine  or  sorrowful  night. 

Let  them  go,  since  we  cannot  re-live  them, 

Cannot  undo  and  cannot  atone; 
God  in  his  mercy  receive,  forgive  them; 

Only  the  new  days  are  our  own. 

To-day  is  ours,  and  to  daj^  alone. 

Here  are  tlie  skies  all  burnished  brightly, 
Here  is  the  spent  eartii  all  re-born, 

Here  are  the  tired  limbs  springing  lightly 
To  face  the  sun  and  to  share  with  the  mom 
In  the  chrism  of  dew  and  the  cool  of  dawn. 

Every  day  is  a  fresli  beginning; 
Listen,  my  soul,  to  the  glad  refrain, 

And  spite  of  old  sorrow  and  older  sinning. 
And  puzzles  forecasted  and  possible  pain. 
Take  heart  with -the  day,  ami  begin  again. 


Selections  for  Heading.  211 


THE   POWER   OF  WORDS. 
Edwin  P.  Whipple. 

Words  are  most  effective  "when  arraug'cd  in  tliat  order 
wliicli  is  called  style.  The  great  secret  of  a  good  style,  we 
are  told,  is  to  have  projjer  words  in  proper  places.  To 
marshal  one's  verbal  battalions  in  such  order  that  thev 
must  bear  at  once  upon  all  quarters  of  a  subject  is  cer- 
tainly a  great  art.  This  is  done  in  different  ways.  Swift, 
Temple,  Addison,  Hume,  Gibbon,  Johnson.  Burke,  are  all 
great  generals  in  the  discipline  of  their  verbal  armies  and 
the  conduct  of  their  paper  wars.  Each  has  a  system  of 
tactics  of  his  own,  and  excels  in  the  use  of  some  particular 
weapon. 

The  tread  of  Johnson's  style  is  heavy  and  sonorous,  re- 
sembling that  of  an  elephant  or  a  mail-clad  warrior.  He 
is  fond  of  levelling  an  obstacle  by  a  polysylhibic  battering- 
ram.  Burke's  words  are  continually  practising  the  broad- 
sword exercise,  and  sweeping  down  adversaries  with  every 
stroke.  Arbuthnot  "i)lays  his  weapon  like  a  tongue  of 
flame."  Addison  draws  up  liis  light  infantry  in  orderly 
array,  and  marches  through  sentence  after  sentence  with- 
out having  his  ranks  disordered  or  his  line  broken. 

Luther  is  different.  His  words  are  "half  battles;"  "his 
smiting  idiomatic  phrases  seem  to  cleave  into  the  very 
secret  of  the  matter."  Gibbon's  legions  are  heavily  armed, 
and  march  with  precision  and  dignity  to  the  music  of  their 
own  tramp.  Tiiey  are  splendidly  equipped,  but  a  nice  eye 
can  discern  a  little  rust  beneath  their  fine  apparel,  and 
there  are  sutlers  in  his  camp  who  lie,  cog,  and  talk  gro.'^s 
obscenity.     Macaulay,  brisk,  lively,  keen,   and  energetic, 


212  Selections  for  Reading. 


runs  his  thoughts  rapidly  through  his  sentence,  and  kicks 
out  of  the  way  every  Avord  which  obstructs  his  passage. 
He  reins  in  his  steed  only  when  he  has  reached  his  goal, 
and  then  does  it  with  such  celerity  that  he  is  nearly  thrown 
backward  by  the  suddenness  of  his  stoppage. 

Gifford's  words  are  moss-troopers:  they  waylay  innocent 
travellers  and  murder  them  for  hire.  Jeffrey  is  a  fine 
'' lance,"  with  a  sort  of  Arab  swiftness  in  his  movement, 
and  runs  an  iron-clad  horseman  through  the  eye  before  he 
has  time  to  close  his  helmet.  John  Wilson's  camp  is  a  dis- 
organized mass,  who  might  do  effectual  service  under  better 
discipline,  but  who  under  his  lead  are  suffered  to  carry  on 
a  rambling  and  predatory  warfare,  and  disgrace  their  gen- 
eral by  flagitious  excesses.  Sometimes  they  steal,  some- 
times swear,  sometimes  drink,  sometimes  pray. 

Swift's  words  are  porcupine's  quills,  which  he  throws 
with  unerring  aim  at  whoever  approaches  his  lair.  All  of 
Ebenezer  Elliot's  words  are  gifted  with  liuge  fists,  to  pum- 
mel and  bruise.  Chatham  and  Miraheau  throw  hot  shot 
into  their  opponents'  magazines.  Talfourd's  forces  are 
orderly  and  disciplined,  and  march  to  the  music  of  the 
Dorian  flute;  those  of  Keats  keep  time  to  the  tones  of  the 
pipe  of  Phoebus;  and  the  hard,  harsh-featured  battalions  of 
Maginn  are  always  preceded  l)y  a  brass  band.  Hallam's 
word-infantry  can  do  much  execution  when  they  are  not 
in  each  other's  way.  Pope's  phrases  are  either  daggers  or 
i'a])iers. 

AV  illis's  words  are  often  tipsy  witli  the  champagne  of  the 
fancy,  but  even  when  they  reel  and  stagger  they  keep  the 
line  of  grace  and  beauty,  and  though  scattered  at  first  by 
a  fierce  onset  from  graver  cohorts,  soon  reunite  without 
Avound  or  loss.  John  Neal's  forces  are  multitudinous,  and 
fire  briskly  at  everything.     They  occupy  all  the  province? 


Select  ions  for  Reading.  213 

of  letters,  and  are  nearly  useless  from  being  spread  over  too 
inucli  ground.  Everett's  weapons  are  ever  kept  in  good 
order,  and  shine  well  in  the  sun,  but  they  are  little  calcu- 
lated for  Avarfare,  and  rarely  kill  when  they  strike.  Web- 
ster's words  are  thunder-bolts,  Avliich  sometimes  miss  the 
Titans  at  whom  they  arc  hurled,  but  always  leave  enduring 
marks  when  they  strike. 

Hazlitt's  verbal  army  is  sometimes  drunk  and  surly, 
sometimes  foaming  with  passion,  sometimes  cool  and  ma- 
lignant; but,  drunk  or  sober,  are  ever  dangerous  to  cope 
with.  Some  of  Tom  Moore's  words  are  shining  dirt,  which 
he  flings  with  excellent  aim.  This  list  might  be  indefi- 
nitely extended,  and  arranged  with  more  regard  to  merit 
and  chronology.  My  own  words,  in  this  connection,  might 
be  compared  to  ragged,  undisciplined  militia,  which  could 
be  easily  routed  by  a  charge  of  horse,  and  which  are  apt  to 
fire  into  each  other's  faces. 


WASTED  COUNSEL. 
R.  W.  Easterbrooks. 


So,  John,  you're  a  goin'  to  be  married,  I  hear. 
Eh?  take  some  tobacco!  well,  women  is  queer, 
And  pesky  provokin'  sometimes;  but  I  find, 
In  the  long  run  of  life,  men  are  seldom  behind. 

Now  there's  my  old  woman — that's  her — Polly  Drake; 
I  thought  her  an  angel  dropped  here  by  mistake, 
Until  I'd  been  married  a  month,  when,  I  swan, 
I  wished  she'd  been  dropped  a  few  rods  further  on! 

How  was  it  ?    Wall,  little  by  little,  you  see, 

I  come  to  know  Polly  and  she  to  know  me, 

And  neither  was  pleas^ed  with  the  other.     The  light 

So  perfect  in  courtship,  with  marriage  grows  bright 


214  Selections  for  Reading. 

And  shows  up  the  flaws  in  our  pictures  so  phiiu 
That  we  long  to  return  them  to  shadows  again. 
But  the  gallery's  bolted,  and  husband  and  wife, 
Alone  -with  each  other,  are  out,  and  for  life. 

Well,  it  ain't  because  either  is  wuss  than  they  were. 
That  she  haggles  with  him  and  he  imitates  her, 
But  only  that  both  are  i/temselrcfi,  and  appear^ 
As  humans,  not  latter-day  Jobs.     Now  come  here 

And  I'll  tell  jou  a  secret  worth  knowin':  you  see 
We've  jogged  along  pleasant  like,  Polly  and  me, 
For  forty  odd  year — and,  deny  it  who  may — 
In  times  like  the  present,  that's  su'lhing  to  say. 

The  way  that  I  iixcd  it  was  this:  when  at  first 
I  found  that  my  angel  was  coiuin'  to  dust, 
I  raved  (a  had  hal)it  I've  tried  to  correct). 
And  Polly  got  flustered — what  could  you  expect? 

And  the  way  she  pitched  into  me  then  (with  her  tongue) 
Wascur'us  to  witness:  "Now,  John,  you  are  young. 
But  remember  this  fact,  and  then  heed  it  with  sense, 
The  tongue  is  a  woman's  sole  means  of  defence." 

And  of  course  she  has  learn't  how  to  use  it;  but  then 
It  is  easily  stopped  with  a  kiss.    Well!  and  when 
She  finally  quit  with  a  snob  and  a  sneeze, 
I  slunk  to  the  barn-yard  as  meek  as  you  please 

And  thought  the  thing  over;  sez  I,  "  Eben  Drake, 
You've  shown  yourself  simpleton  now — no  mistake." 
For  I  measured  myself,  and  I  found  that  for  me 
To  scold  at  the  woman  that  Polly  coukl  be 

Was  wuss  than  the  toad's  finding  fault  with  the  hare, 
And  this  is  the  bargain  I  made  then  and  there: 
"  I'll  leave  her  .-ilone  till  I  see,  plain  and  true, 
That  I  am  the  wisest  and  best  of  the  two." 

So,  as  every  one  knows,  we're  a  peaceable  pair, 

And  the  rock  all  young  fellers  like  you  should  beware 


Select  ions  for  Beading.  215 


Is  that  of  forgetting  that  womcu,  like  men, 
Is  likely  to  falter,  and  drop  now  and  then. 

Now  Ruth  is  as  good  as  the  average.     Pshaw! 
Don't  look  so  disgusted!  'lis  true  as  the  law 
That  some  time  you'll  tind  she  is  human,  and  mourn 
—Of  course — now  I've  got  to  the  sermon— he's  gone. 


TOO  LATE. 
FiTZ  Hugh  Ludlow. 

"  Alt  !  si  lajeunesse  savait — si  la  neillesse  pouvait!" 

There  sat  an  old  man  on  a  rock 

And  unceasing  bewailed  him  of  Fate — 
That  concern  where  we  all  must  take  stock 
Though  our  vote  has  no  hearing  nor  weight: 
And  the  old'man  sang  him  an  old,  old  song — 
Never  sang  voice  so  clc-ar  and  strong 
That  it  could  drown  the  old  man's  long, 
For  he  sang  the  song  "  Too  late!  too  late!" 

"  When  we  want,  we  have  for  our  pains 
The  promise  that  if  we  but  wait 
Till  the  want  has  burned  out  of  our  brains 
Ever}^  means  shall  be  present  to  state; 

While  we  send  for  the  napkin  the  soup  gets  cold, 
While  the  bonnet  is  trimming  the  face  grows  old. 
When  we've  matched  our  buttons  the  pattern  is  sold, 
And  everj'thiug  comes  too  late — too  late! 

"  When  strawberries  seemed  like  red  heavens — 
Terrapin  stew  a  wild  dream — 
When  my  brain  was  at  sixes  and  sevens 
If  my  mother  had  '  folks  '  and  ice  cream. 
Then  I  gazed  with  a  lickerish  hunger 
At  the  restaurant  man  and  fruit-monger — 
But  oh!  how  I  wished  I  were  younger 

When  the  goodies  all  came  in  a  stream — in  a  stream! 


216  Selections  for  Readi/u/. 

"  I've  a  splendid  blood  horse  aud  a  liver 
That  it  jars  into  torture  to  trot; 
My  row-boat's  the  gem  of  tiie  river — 
Gout  makes  every  knuckle  a  knot! 
I  can  buy  boundless  credits  on  Paris  and  Rome, 
But  no  palate  for  mentis — no  eyes  for  a  dome — 
T/iose  belonged  to  the  youth  who  must  tany  at  liomo 
AVlicn  no  home  but  an  attic  he'd  got — he'd  got. 

"  How  I  longed  in  that  lonest  of  garrets, 

Where  tlie  tiles  baked  my  brains  all  July, 
For  ground  to  grow  two  pecks  of  carrots. 
Two  pigs  of  my  own  in  a  sty. 
A  rose-bush — a  little  thatched  cottage — 
Two  spoons — love — a  basin  of  pottage: 
Now  in  freestone  I  sit — and  my  dotage — 

With  a  woman's  chair  empty  close  by — close  byl 

"  Ah!  now,  though  I  sit  on  a  rock,     ^ 
I  have  sluxred  one  seat  with  the  Great; 
I  have  sat,  knowing  naught  of  the  clock. 
On  Love's  high  throne  of  state; 
But  the  lips  that  kissed  and  the  arms  that  caressed 
To  a  mouth  grown  stern  witli  delay  were  pressed. 
And  circled  a  breast  that  their  clasp  had  blessed 
Had  they  only  not  come  too  late !  too  late ! 


AVALTEE  SCOTT. 
JoHN-W.  Chadwick. 


Scorr's  temple  of  fortune  Avas  already  tottering  to  it.s 
base  when  the  publication  of  "  Wavcrley"  in  1814:  signal- 
ized a  success  so  splendid  that  publisher  and  author  ban- 
ished every  doubt  and  entered  on  a  new  career.  It  is  terrible 
to  think  how  different  Scott's  im])ression  on  the  world 
would  have  been  if  he  had   not  discovered  ihc  mine  of 


Selections  for  Reading.  217 

fiction  in  himself  after  he  had  exhansted  the  mine  of 
poetry.  "Kokebyand  the  Bride  of  Tricrmain"  and  the 
'•Lord  of  the  Isles"  were  decidedly  inferior  to  their  pre- 
decessors, and  made  a  much  fainter  appeal  to  the  pnblic, 
first  on  account  of  their  intrinsic  inferiority,  and  second 
because  they  had  gone  with  Cliilde  Harold  on  his  pilgrim- 
age. ''Byron  beats  me  in  poetry,"  said  Scott.  Wonld  ho 
had  gone  on  writing  wiLli  this  consciousness  of  being 
beaten!  Tliis  is  not  likely.  But  what  a  happy  fortune 
was  that  which,  when  his  i)oetic  vein  was  running  low  and 
the  public  was  turning  from  him  to  a  new  favorite,  sent 
him  one  day  to  hunt  for  fishing-tackle,  and  so  mixed  up 
Avith  it  the  first  chapter  of  the  novel  which  he  had  begun 
nine  years  before  and  broken  oifl  There  was  in  it  the 
corner  stone  of  such  a  temple  of  creative  art  as  no  writer  of 
prose  fiction  up  to  that  time  had  dreamed  of  building,  not 
snaring  high  Ijut  wide  extended,  spacious,  full  of  light  and 
air  for  the  most  part,  but  not  without  mysterious  crypts 
and  dark  recesses,  and  simply  infinite  in  the  variety  and 
quaintness  of  its  details  of  ornament.  And  oh,  the  multi- 
tude that  have  gathered  neath  this  temple's  roof,  upon  its 
floor  where  every  step  is  on  some  hero's  name,  and  found 
life  better  worth  the  living  because  of  such  a  fair  retreat, 
and  thanked  God  for  such  a  name  as  Walter  Scott! 

The  wonderful  success  of- the  Waverleys  on  their  first 
appearance,  the  wonderful  rapidity  with  which  they  were 
brought  out,  the  wonderful  mystery  that  attended  their 
publication — these  things  are  commonplace  to  every  one 
who  knows  the  rudiments  of  English  literature.  There 
has  been  much  discussion  as  to  why  Scott  remained  anony- 
mous so  long.  It  is  probable  that  he  published  Waverley 
anonymously  because  he  did  not  wish  to  compromise  his 
general   literary  reputation  with  a   questionable    success. 


218  Selections  for  Beading. 

But  once  liavinof  started  on  tliis  course,  lie  found  that  mvs- 
tification  was  pleasant  to  him  for  its  own  sake,  and  he  even 
dared  to  bring  forward  a  new  series  after  he  had  written 
Waverlev,  "Guy  Mannering"  and  "  Tlie  Antiquary,"  as 
the  work  of  a  ditferent  author.  But  the  voice  behind  the 
mask  was  recognized  at  once.  Still  later,  when  liis  author- 
ship was  an  open  secret,  he  found  it  pleasant  travelling  in 
cognito,  receiving  the  substantial  honors  of  a  king,  but  able 
to  spare  himself  much  useless  homage.  And  so  it  hnp- 
pened  that  the  avowal  did  not  come  till  it  was  coupled 
with  the  news  of  his  financial  march.  "Scott  ruined!  the 
author  of  the  Waverleys  ruined!"  cried  an  enthusiastic 
admirer,  "why  if  every  one  should  give  him  sixpence 
where  he  has  given  months  of  pleasure,  he  would  be  as  rich 
as  Rothschild." 

So  much  fiction  has  been  written  since  the  time  of  Scott, 
and  mucli  of  it  has  been  so  good,  tluit  it  is  not  to  be  ex- 
pected that  our  enthusiasm  for  him  should  be  equal  to  that 
which  hailed  the  marvellous  success  of  his  stories  with  un- 
speakable delight.  But  consider  a  world  in  which  tliere 
was  as  yet  no  Bulwer,  no  Dickens,  no  Charlotte  Bronte, 
no  Hawthorne,  no  Thackeray,  and  no  George  Eliot,  and 
consider  that  the  best  that  could  be  had  was  the  sentimen- 
talism  of  Kichardson  or  the  coarseness  of  Fielding  and 
Smollett,  or  the  claptrap  of  Mesdames  Rutledge  and  Porter, 
or  at  best  the  easy  grace  and  quiet  humor  of  Jane  Austen, 
or  Maria  Edgeworth's  somewhat  more  vigorous  and  home- 
lier vein;  and  if  you  wonder,  it  will  not  be  that  Scott  was 
read  by  our  grandfathers  with  such  vast  delight,  but  rather 
that  the  deli^^ht  was  not  more  eager  and  intense.  The 
l)ublic  of  sixty  years  ago  did  not,  I  think,  deceive  itself  as 
to  the  merits  of  these  books.  It  knew  what  it  was  about 
wlicn  it  exhausted  immediately  an  edition  of  12,000  co})ies 


Selections  for  Reading.  219 

of  one  after  another,  and  12,000  copies  then  meant  36,000 
volumes.  It  knew  what  it  was  aljout  when  it  stayed  at 
home  on  Sunday  to  read  the  new  Waverley  that  had  come 
out  the  night  before;  it  knew  what  it  meant  when  it  sat 
up  all  night  to  read  "Guy  Mannering"  or  "Old  Mortali- 
ty," and  nothing  slept  but  its  gout.  And  all  the  readers 
did  not  lie  on  sofas,  as  in  Carlyle's  imaginary  world. 
'Prentice  lads  and  sewing-women  found  a  world  of  pure 
enjoyment  here,  after  their  work  was  done.  The  average 
happiness  in  Scotland  and  England  from  1815  to  1830,  and 
for  a  long  time  after,  must  have  been  raised  many  degrees 
by  these  novels.  And  not  only  the  average  of  happiness, 
but  the  average  of  truth  and  jourity,  and  humanity  and 
generosity  and  active  sympathy  between  man  and  man. 

Give  men  the  means  of  innocent  enjoyment,  and  you 
break  the  hold  of  vicious  pleasures  on  their  minds.  Scott 
did  this  as  few  other  men  have  done  it  in  all  literature. 
If  he  had  amused  only  idle  people,  lying  on  sofas,  as 
Carlyle  imagines,  he  would  still  deserve  our  praise,  for  an 
"  idle  brain  is  the  devil's  workshop,"  and  these  idle  people 
might  have  done  no  end  of  mischief  but  for  the  Waverley 
novels.  But  who  does  not  know  that  the  novels  have  rested 
and  cheered  and  blessed  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands 
of  men  and  women  whose  backs  were  bent  with  toil,  and 
whose  hands  were  callous  from  those  labors  that  maintain 
the  state  of  the  world? 

Scott  wanted  to  see  Abbotsford  again  before  he  died,  and 
the  physicians  yielded  to  his  importunities  at  last.  It  was 
almost  as  sad  as  Garfield's  journey  from  the  capital  to  the 
sea,  this  return  of  Scott  to  his  beloved  banks  of  the  Tweed. 
We  turn  away  from  these  last  days.  We  do  not  care  to  see 
the  oak  that  has  battled  with  so  many  tempests  tottering 
in  its  fall.     "  Be  a  good  man,"  he  said  to  Lockhart  in  one  of 


220  Selections  for  Reading. 


his  clearest  moments;  *' be  virtuous,  be  religious,  be  a  good 
man."  This  was  four  days  before  tlie  end.  September 
the  21st  the  weather  was  glorious.  Every  window  was 
o})en  and  the  ripple  of  the  Tweed  over  its  pebbles  was  dis- 
tinctly audible  in  his  rooms  when  those  who  watched  him 
saw  that  death  had  come  at  last.  "When  he  departed," 
says  Carlyle,  '•' he  took  a  man's  life  along  with  him.  No 
sounder  piece  of  British  manhood  was  put  together  in  that 
eighteenth  century  of  time.  Alas  !  his  fine  Scotch  face, 
with  its  shaggy  houest}^  sagacity  and  goodness.  We  shall 
never  forget  it.  We  shall  never  see  it  again.  Adieu,  Sir 
Walter,  pride  of  all  Scotclimen,  take  our  proud  and  sad 
farewell." 


HALF-HEARD. 

Carl  Spencer. 

Poets  must  ever  be  their  own  best  listeners. 

No  word  from  man  to  men 

Shall  sound  the  same  a.ijain; 
Something  is  lost  tiirough  all  interpreters. 

Never  for  finest  thought 

Can  cr3'stal  words  be  wrought 
'Piiat  to  the  crowd  afar 
Shall  show  it — more  than  telescope  a  star. 

Each  for  himself  creates  the  world  in  which  he  dwells — 

Thy  world  is  only  thine. 

Whatever  ligiit  may  shine 
Outward,  for  thee  the  inner  glory  wells; 

Auotiier  earth  and  skies 

Are  seen  by  other  eyes. 

Each  from  his  centre  rounds 
Gotl's  universe,  and  yet  it  hath  no  bounds. 


Selections  for  Meadinr/.  221 

Siug — but  the  song  that  took  its  sweetest  tone 

From  deeper  things  unsaid, 

Its  fullest  sense  unread, 
Another  will  interpret  by  his  own. 

To  hiiii  shall  come  the  line 

Wilh  music  not  of  thine. 
None  shall  the  whole  repeat; 
Call  it  enough  if  thej'  shall  answer  it. 

Close  as  we  go,  with  clasped  hands,  one  way, 

No  less  we  walk  apart; 

Something  in  every  heart 
Must  hold  it  from  all  other  hearts  away. 

Yet  shall  that  silent  chord 

Be  vocal  to  its  Lord. 

Some  sweetest  notes  would  fall 
Vainly  in  heaven,  did  not  One  answer  all. 


THE  KNOCKING  AT  THE  GATE,   IN  MACBETH. 

Thomas  De  Quincey. 

Fkom  my  boyish  days  I  had  always  felt  a  great  perplexity 
on  one  point  in  Macbeth.  It  was  this:  the  knocking  at  the 
gate,  which  succeeds  to  tlie  murder  of  Duncan,  produced 
to  my  feelings  an  effect  for  which  I  never  could  account. 
The  effect  was,  that  it  reflected  back  upon  the  murder  a 
"peculiar  awfulness  and  a  depth  of  solemnity;  yet,  however 
obstinately  I  endeavored  with  my  understanding  to  com- 
prehend this,  for  many  years  I  never  could  see  luhy  it  should 
produce  sticli  an  effect.  Here  I  pause  for  one  moment,  to 
exhort  the  reader  never  to  pay  any  attention  to  his  under- 
standing when  it  stands  in  opposition  to  any  other  faculty 
of  his  mind.  The  mere  understanding,  however  useful  and 
indispensable,  is  the  meanest  faculty  in  the  human  mind, 
and  the  most  to  be  distrusted;  and  yet  the  great  majority 


222  Selections  for  Reading. 

of  peojile  trust  to  nothing  else;  -vvliicli  may  do  for  ordinary 
life,  but  not  for  philosophical  purposes.  — 

My  understanding  could  furnish  no  reason  why  the 
knocking  at  the  gate  in  Macbeth  should  produce  any  effect, 
direct  or  reflected.  In  fact,  my  understanding  said  posi- 
tively that  it  could  not  produce  any  effect.  But  I  know 
better:  I  felt  that  it  did;  and  I  waited  and  clung  to  the 
problem  until  further  knowledge  should  enable  me  to  solve 
it.  At  length  I  solved  it  to  my  own  satisfaction,  and  my 
solution  is  tiiis:  Murder  in  ordinarv  cases,  where  the  svm- 
pathy  is  wholly  directed  to  the  case  of  the  murdered  person, 
is  an  incident  of  coarse  and  vulgar  horror;  and  for  this 
reason,  that  it  flings  the  interest  exclusively  upon  the 
natural  but  ignoble  instinct  by  which  we  cleave  to  life;  an 
instinct  which,  as  being  indispensable  to  the  primal  law  of 
self-preservation,  is  the  saoie  in  kind  (though  different  in 
degree)  among  all  living  creatures:  this  instinct,  therefore, 
because  it  annihilates  all  distinctions,  and  degrades  the 
greatest  of  men  to  the  level  of  "  the  poor  beetle  that  we 
tread  on,"  exhibits  human  nature  in  its  most  abject  and 
humiliating  attitude. 

Such  an  attitude  would  little  suit  the  purposes  of  the 
poet.  What,  then,  must  he  do?  He  must  throw  the 
interest  on  the  murderer.  Our  sympathy  must  be  with 
him  (of  course  I  mean  a  sympathy  of  comprehension,  a 
sympathy  by  which  we  enter  into  his  feelings  and  are  made 
to  understand  them — not  a  sympathy  of  pity  or  approba- 
tion). In  the  murdered  person  all  strife  of  thought,  all 
flux  and  reflux  of  passion  and  of  purpose,  are  crushed  by 
one  overwhelming  panic:  the  fear  of  instant  death  smites 
him  "with  its  petrific  mace."  But  in  the  murderer — such 
a  murderer  as  a  poet  will  condescend  to — there  must  be 
raging  sonic  great  storm  of  ]ias;  ion — jealou.  y.  ambition. 


Selections  for  Reading.  223 

vengeance,  hatred — which  will  create  a  hell  Avithiu  him; 
and  into  this  hell  we  are  to  look. 

In  Macbeth,  for  the  sake  of  gratifying  his  own  enormous 
and  teeming  faculty  of  creation,  Shakspeare  has  introduced 
two  murderers;  and,  as  usual  in  his  hands,  they  are  re- 
markably discriminated:  but,  though  in  Macbeth  the  strife 
of  mind  is  greater  than  in  his  wife — the  tiger  spirit  not  so 
awake,  and  his  feelings  caught  chiefly  by  contagion  from 
her, — yet,  as  both  were  finally  involved  in  the  guilt  of 
murder,  the  murderous  mind  of  necessity  is  finally  to  be 
presumed  in  both.  This  was  to  be  expressed;  and  on  its 
own  account,  as  well  as  to  make  it  a  more  proportionable 
antagonist  to  the  unoffending  nature  of  their  victim,  "the 
gracious  Duncan,"  and  adequately  to  expound  "  the  deep 
damnation  of  his  taking  off,"  this  was  to  be  expressed  with 
peculiar  energy.  We  were  to  be  made  to  feel  that  the 
human  nature,  i.e.,  the  divine  nature  of  love  and  mercy, 
spread  through  the  hearts  of  all  creatures,  and  seldom 
utterly  withdrawn  from  man,  was  gone,  vanished,  extinct; 
and  that  the  fiendish  nature  had  taken  its  place.  And,  as 
this  effect  is  marvellously  accomplished  in  the  dialogues  and 
soliloquies  themselves,  so  it  is  finally  consummated  by  the 
expedient  under  consideration;  and  it  is  to  this  that  I  now 
solicit  the  reader's  attention. 

All  action  in  any  direction  is  best  expounded,  measured, 
and  made  apprehensil)le  by  reaction.  Now  apply  this  to 
the  case  in  i\Licbetli.  Here,  as  I  have  said,  the  retiring  of 
the  human  heart  and  the  entrance  of  the  fiendish  heart  was 
to  be  expressed  and  made  sensible.  Another  world  has 
stepped  in,  and  the  murderers  are  taken  out  of  the  region 
of  human  things,  human  purposes,  human  desires.  They 
are  transfigured:  Lady  Macbeth  is  "unsexed;"  Macbeth 
has  forirnt  tliat  he  was  burn  of  woman:  both  are  confo]-nied 


223  Selections  for  Reading. 


to  the  image  of  devils;  and  the  world  of  devils  is  suddenly 
revealed.  But  how  shall  this  be  conveyed  and  made  pal- 
pable? 

In  order  that  a  new  w^orld  may  step  in,  this  world  must 
for  a  time  disappear.  The  murderers  and  the  murder  must 
be  insulated — cut  off  by  an  immeasurable  gulf  from  the 
ordinary  tide  and  succession  of  human  affairs — locked  up 
and  sequestered  in  some  deep  recess;  we  must  be  made  sen- 
sible that  the  world  of  ordinai'y  life  is  suddenly  arrested — 
laid  asleep — tranced — racked  into  a  dread  armistice:  time 
must  be  annihilated;  relation  to  things  without  abolished; 
and  all  must  pass  self-withdrawn  into  a  deep  syncope  and 
suspension  of  earthly  passion.  Hence  it  is  that  when  the 
deed  is  done,  when  the  work  of  (h.irlvness  is  perfect,  then 
the  world  of  darkness  passes  away  like  a  pageantry  in  the 
clouds:  the  knocking  at  the  gate  is  heard,  and  it  makes 
known  audibly  that  the  reaction  has  commenced:  the 
human  has  made  its  reflux  upon  the  fiendish,  the  pulses  of 
life  are  beginning  to  beat  again,  and  the  re-establishment  of 
the  goings-on  of  the  world  in  wdiich  we  live  first  makes  us 
profoundly  sensible  of  the  awful  parenthesis  that  had  sus- 
pended them. 

0  mighty  })oct!  Thy  works  are  not  as  those  of  other 
men,  simply  and  merely  great  works  of  art,  but  are  also 
like  the  phenomena  of  nature— like  the  sun  and  the  sea, 
the  stars  and  the  flowers,  like  frost  and  snow,  rain  and  dew% 
liail-storm  and  thunder, — which  are  to  be  studied  with 
entire  submission  of  our  own  faculties,  and  in  the  perfect 
faith  that  in  them  there  can  be  no  too  much  or  too  little, 
nothing  useless  or  inert;  but  that,  the  further  we  ]iress  in 
our  discoveries,  the  more  we  shall  sec  ])roofs  of  design  and 
self-supporting  arrangement  where  the  careless  eye  had  seen 
until  IPS'  but  accident. 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


OCT  2  7 1969 


Form  L-9— 15?«-7,'35 


New  and  Thoroughly  Jieviaed  Edition, 

111J_J    \J.\J    V    i_Jl\.X\lYXJ_JXN  UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FAC 


A  YOUTH'S  MANUAL  OF  INSTRUCT 
CONSTITUTIONAL  GOVEE 

Pact  I. — Principles  of  Govern 
of  GoYernment — 2,  Gojernrnent  i 


FACILITY 


r  edition.     Thoro 
nsellor  at  Law.     3{ 

)ur  Government,  to  Li 
rstood ;  and  to  be  und. 
)ne,  by  the  masses,  in 
rnment  Class  Book  * ; 
it,  and  peculiarly  adaj: 
"•  of  it  will  render  ai 
,  perfectly  familiar  wl 
1,  Common,  Statutory 
}  world  with  clear  per 
,  love  for  their  countrj 
life.     And  who  si 
1  not  worth  a  tbous 
.\  most  of  the     ;h. 
ION  Bateman,  la     S' 
V  6  hail  all  such  c'    s  I 
neglect  of  train     <; 
\  has  heretofore  c 
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asibilities  would " 
bly  accountable. 
lOok  before  us  is  i 
i  with  great  distinctnc 
cal,  and  adapted  to  th 
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AA    000  357  522    2 
■D.T,rT,TT    -Principles  of  Law:  1,  Com- 
lieipal  LaAv) — 2,  International 
.      .,  author  of  ''American  States- 
of  Government  and  Law,"  etc.,  etc. 
'•ised.     By  Salter  S.  Clark, 


12mo,  cloth. 

nd  cherished  as  it  should  be,  must  be 

H  must  be  studied:  and  this  can  only 

free  schools  of  the  country.      '  The 

valuable  contribution  to  this  great 

.e  in  the  public  schools.     A  careful 

man  or  woman,  of  good  common 

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£  their  rights  and  duties  as  citizens, 

institutions,  which  will  be  as  endur- 

7  that  such  a  knowledge  of  political 

les  more  than  that  which  is  substituted 

i  academies  of  the  country?" — Hon. 

jrintendent  of  Schools,  Illinois. 

this.     We  are  amazed  at  the  almost 

?ience  of  national  self-government 


irf 
ou 
a  ) 


the  education  of  '  Toung  America.' 
specially  educated  for  his  coming 
ty,  and  his  guardians  would  be  held 
Duntry  every  youth  is  heir-apparent, 
ystematized,  and  its  anangement  is 
,re  the  eye.     The  whole  is  thoroughly 
OSes  of  an  elementary  text-book.    And 
.'ded  by  a  large  sale  not  only,  but  by  an 
%  the  study  of  legal  and  political  prin- 
ciples amongst  young  and  old." — C?iristian  Intdligencer. 

"  '  The  Government  Class  Book '  is  especially  valuable  on  account  of 
the  prominence  which  it  gives  to  State  Governmer.t,  and  for  its  closing 
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Had  such  a  book  come  into  my  hands  when  a  boy  in  the  common  schools, 
it  Avould  have  been  held  as  a  priceless  treasure.  The  book  is  valuable  in 
view  of  its  choice  contents,  and  as  a  production  in  the  direction  of  the 
new  education  now  sought  for  in  our  common  schools." — Pfon.  D.  Burt, 
State  Superintendent  of  Public  Instruction,  St.  Paul,  Minn. 

Although  this  revised  edition  of  the  above  work  has  been  published  but  a  short  time 
it  has  already  been  introduced  tcith  marked  success  in  hundreds  of  schools  in  all 
vartg  of  the  country. 

Published  by  CURK  &  MAYNARD,  New  York. 


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